Through The Window, We Go
by odairrieres
Summary: When Draco Malfoy, a suburban thug with nothing better to do than cause trouble and run from the police, climbs through his next door neighbor's window in hopes of hiding away he finds himself dodging thrown books and accusations from a very disgruntled Hermione Granger. And, despite heated arguments over right and wrong, Draco is tempted to steal Hermione's heart away.
1. Chapter 1

Through the open window, the summer breeze brought the sounds of sirens and the blues and reds of police cars. The searching lights painted the bedroom walls and lit the face of a young woman as she tried to sleep through the nightly noise. Distressed, she turned on her side, her head coming to rest on a tousled textbook that would surely leave a mark on her face come morning. Though, having had that incidence happen many times before, and gotten over the teasing long ago, she was unlikely to care.

Outside, as the wailing died down, the air filled with the sound of heavy breathing and a shadow teetered on the edge of a roof, lingered for a faint second before it leapt over to the roof with the beaconing window. The hooded figure of a boy carefully maneuvered along the shingles, a light scratching of shoes against clay possibly giving him away to whoever lay on the other side of the wall he leaned against.

Again, the shadow paused, listening to the steady breathing of the bedroom's occupant and, confident the person was well into a dream, he made his daring approach to the window.

But the girl's cheek pressed too heavily against the hard edge of her textbook and the dull pain of the contact made her restless again. And, in a dreamlike state, she slowly sat up from the discomforting position and made to move the book off her bed. A shadow in the moon's light, however, froze her.

Having heard the shift of sheets and a disgruntled moan from inside, the teenage escapist knew he'd been caught. But that wasn't going to stop him from getting away from the street and police lights.

"Knock, knock," he breathed, a smirk in his voice as he hooked his leg over the window's edge and stepped into what appeared to be the room of a neat freak. He was so used to stumbling on shoes or books or animals when he snuck into houses but, with the help of his keen night vision, the boy could tell this room was secure of any hazards- except the body that lay in the bed before him.

A body that had, since his unwelcomed entrance, adopted that fateful textbook as a shield between she and the hooded figure. "Who's there?" She demanded, no quieter than the shrill sound of sirens outside.

He shut the window, grimacing at the prospect of her voice alerting the police. A lighted car was pulling up to the driveway next door, and he could already see his mother going outside to say he'd never come home. It was a script they both knew very well.

"Just the neighborhood hoodlum, out for a walk," was his snide reply as he locked the window nice and shut so the girl couldn't somehow shove him out and down onto the police car below.

In the ongoing blue and red lights, he could see clearly just how angry the girl was. And she could see who exactly she was dealing with. When she recognized his face, her hair seemed to puff up along with the rest of her features.

The book found its way through the air and against the boy's forehead. She had good aim, he'd give her that. But very, very poor judgment.

He caught the book as it fell from his head, still flinching from the hit and easily more agitated than he had been when he'd snuck his way into the room.

"Get out!"

Her loudness and the fact that she had yet to scream for her parents told him all he needed to know: she was home alone. Very, very poor judgement.

"Do you know how stupid it is to hit a criminal over the head?" He hissed, waving her weapon in the air. The girl narrowed her eyes, inching back against her headboard.

"Not as stupid as hiding in your next door neighbor's house when all I have to do is scream for the police. I'm sure my voice can carry," she threatened. She had him there and he scowled, wondered why he hadn't just jumped to the house on the opposite side.

"Besides, I know you and you don't have the nerve to hit me." She sounded far too confident for his liking and the book in his hand was becoming tempting. Really, it had always been tempting. He never did like the feel of a textbook in his hands. And, if he was seeing the title right, it was a physics book. How fitting.

"Just because you live next door to me, doesn't mean you know me," he shot back but he sensed he was already losing the argument. The girl was getting comfortable against the headboard, even going so far as to cross her arms over her lifted knees. He was biting back a comment about the way her disturbingly large hair puffed behind her like some cartoonish cloud, knowing well that she had his fate in the palm of her hands as long as the police were next door.

The red and blue lights infinitely swooped over the room, and lit her features. Though they conveniently kept him in the shadows, the way the light illuminated her soft face toyed with his mind.

She cocked her head to the side, and he found that she would have looked even better without that long-sleeved shirt on. It looked as if she'd forgotten to change out of her school attire before falling asleep. It made his mind stray again, and he wondered what she would've worn to sleep if she slept in anything at all.

By the looks of her room, she probably went to bed in a chastity belt.

"You really don't recognize me, do you?" She asked, almost amused. It unsettled him.

"I'm not exactly on a first name basis with my neighbors, now am I?" He scoffed.

She laughed bitterly. "Well, I shouldn't be surprised. Bullies usually don't like to remember who they've taunted," she shot back. "It would imply remorse."

"Excuse me?" Was the girl for real? Other than the snarky comment he'd been dying to say about the prude she was, he didn't exactly feel like the bullying type. Unless bullying entailed him beating the crap out of a few cars and convenience stores.

"Really, and here I thought I was your favorite." She was still getting blank stares. With a sigh, she recalled her childhood. "From elementary up until freshman year of high school, when you so conveniently lost your mind and dropped out, you loved to play hide and seek. You would hide pencils and gum in my hair, and I would have to seek them out. I know nowadays, you like to steal cars, Malfoy but, back in the good old days, you liked to steal my homework."

For a moment, Malfoy stared at the girl in front of him as if she'd lost her mind along with the control over her brown locks. And then, it clicked into place: know-it-all, tidy to compensate for a mess of a head, and extremely teasable. It all sounded too familiar, but he'd been too busy saving his own hide to remember clearly.

It didn't help that the only thing he recognized about her was that hair. She sure didn't look like the frumpy girl of his childhood. Malfoy had _this_ sleeping right next to him? He almost scolded himself for not climbing through her window sooner.

"Granger? Hermione Granger?"

"None other," she sighed. "To think you hadn't smashed my car window as a reminder of the fun we used to have."

He was having a hard time figuring out which of these offenses had driven her to throw the book. Maybe it was an accumulation of them all.

He was also having a hard time figuring out why she hadn't screamed yet, if only for payback.

"If I remember correctly, you didn't have a hard time replacing it so who cares." He would never figure out how to keep his mouth shut.

Hermione almost lurched at him, but stopped herself short of the edge of her bed. "My god, you are selfish! That came out of my college fund," she hissed.

Malfoy snorted. "Oh please, if you managed to poke your nose out the ass of your textbook, you'd realize every school has a hard-on for you. They'll be throwing money and you'll be riding whichever one coughs up the most."

"You're disgusting."

"You know it's true," he chimed, comfortable enough that this lion wouldn't bite that he dared to sit at her desk. He rolled around in the seat, still keeping away from the light as much as possible.

But with the little light he did manage to roll into, Hermione caught the sight of blood.

"Whose car window did you bust open this time?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, holding the bleeding hand in his other to keep anything from dropping onto her precious floor. He was sure she'd have a hissy fit.

"No one's."

"Okay, _who_ did you punch?" She corrected snidely.

"Even outside of school, you never stop asking questions, do you?"

"I could just call the police and they'd tell me."

He bit his tongue, fighting against the wave of insults he wanted to throw at her. But, he also had to hold himself back from just, well, throwing her. And he wasn't sure if he was going to throw her out the window or back on the bed. It would be an easier decision if she just stopped talking.

"This guy who ratted me out to the cops, no big deal."

"Is that why you also have a lump on your eyebrow?"

He snapped. "God fucking damn it, are you kidding me right now? If I wanted to get interrogated, I'd just leap out the window right now and turn myself in! And I'm pretty sure that the lump is from your stupid book," he steamed, his foot jutting out to kick said book off the windowsill and onto the ground with a loud "thunk".

Hermione gulped, unsettled by the aggression but more so by the fact that the jerk had probably scuffed her book. "Stop taking your misplaced anger out on me."

"Excuse me?" He bit out, glowering.

"I said, stop misplacing your anger. Actually, you know what, you should just stop trying so hard. It's almost as petty as your crimes," she muttered, turning her head to look out the window as the sound of a car engine switched on. The police were going to look elsewhere, it seemed.

"And what exactly am I trying so hard to do?" He ventured to ask, his nerves evaporating in the combined heat from the two of them and the rising summer temperatures.

She looked back at him, an unwavering determination in her eyes. "To follow your father's footsteps. Do you really want to be bunker buddies with him when they haul you off in handcuffs? Do you know what they do to egotistical guys like you in there?"

He rose from the chair before she could let out another wasted breath. He was there, looming over her and making the room even darker than it already was without the police lights. Finally, she felt the fear and strange excitement of having a criminal in her room.

"Like you even fucking know what they do. But I bet you, you'd learn real quick if you were in there for even a second," he breathed hot on her face. "Maybe I could give you a few lessons." He leaned forward, into her space with hands pressed on the mattress to either side of her.

She refused to back down.

"You're not that kind of a person. You're not like them, and you're not like your father no matter how hard you foolishly try," she replied as calmly as her pounding chest would allow her. Her eyes never wavered from his, and she could see his challenge backing down. It seemed to make her heart race only faster. But, among the memories of her watching Draco Malfoy crumble when his father left as one of the many Ponzi scheme arrests, she remembered how much of his attention towards her was of the negative variety. And she reminded herself of the four years that had passed since that arrest, since one of the only times she'd seen this boy vulnerable, and how it would be a miracle to get that boy back.

And why, God why, was she so determined to add more work to her mountainous pile.

"My father," he spat, though his resolve was crumbling, "made his mistakes but he is not a bad person."

"Then why are you turning into one? To get back at him? To get at the system? You were a jerk before, Draco, but you're not this."

He flinched at her words, and at the feel of her hand against his bloody one. When his eyes opened and readjusted to the dark, he saw that her gaze had turned to his wound.

"Let me get my first-aid kit," she mumbled before swiftly escaping from beneath him. He felt a cold breeze when she passed, a strange contrast to the boiling heat of their bodies in such close proximity. He absently thought about the sweet perfume the air carried in her wake but shook off the scent by the time Hermione returned.

She demanded him to sit down, mumbling something about not wanting to be "breathed on" and about him "blocking the light". His arrogance reassured him that those were just excuses and his cocky smile could only be deterred by the sting of whatever crap Hermione was putting on his hand.

She gripped his hand tighter when he tried to move away. "Stop being a baby," she muttered, her fingers a warm and soft prize after the cold bitterness of alcohol.

He didn't bother arguing. Instead, he sat quiet as she wrapped his hand in a bandage and even felt a little disappointed when she finally let go.

"There. Now, your mother will have less to worry about."

She was retreating back towards the pillows and Draco was lost, but only for a second.

"You should go back to her, you know. The police are gone for now," she explained, her eyes boring into the sheets she was trying to put over herself. He finally noticed she'd changed while she was fetching the bandages, didn't like the way she was about to cover her legs, didn't like the fact that he should really leave.

He caught hold of her sheets before she could cover herself completely and leave him out in the cold, figuratively since they both knew it was boiling hot both inside and out.

She eyed him warily.

"And if they come back, could I, you know?" He fumbled to ask, weirdly uncomfortable in a way he wasn't used to.

Hermione's head lowered, but through a break in her mane, he spotted the beginning of a smile.

When she looked back up, her smile almost lit up the entire room and, for a moment, he was afraid he'd been given away and the police would come swooping in after him before he could hear her reply.

"My window's always open."

He returned her smile, his cheeks tingling at such an old expression returning to his features. His joy turned quickly to cockiness.

"Even if it wasn't, I'd just bust it open."

Hermione laughed, and Draco decided that was his favorite use of her mouth. Though, there was another favorite of his that had yet to be put to use.

"Goodnight, Draco," Hermione said, an amused spring to her voice.

And then, though she'd known this was what petty criminals did, Hermione was taken by surprise when Draco decided to commit his biggest crime of the night. Without a word, his silhouette merged with hers in the darkness and, much like the thief he was, he stole her kiss.

"Goodnight," he whispered, using Hermione's stunned silence as his queue to leave before another book could come hurling towards his head. But there would be no book to be thrown because Hermione's hands were preoccupied with her lips, tracing that place where something had once been but was no more.

As Draco disappeared through the window, she decided stealing wasn't all that bad. And as Draco snuck back into his own home, he decided that Hermione was the only thing worth stealing.


	2. Chapter 2

[A/N: thanks to a handful of requests and a wee bit of peer pressure, I've decided to keep this fic going! It won't be a long one, four-six chapters at the most but I hope you'll enjoy it! Thanks for the reviews, they really encouraged me to pursue this story a bit more. :) ]

Her mischievous Peter Pan didn't wait too long to appear at her window. And when he did, it wasn't to escape the law but, instead, to whisk her away from her dull dreams and even duller studies. Luck was with him on these nights, for weekends spelled out long hours of talking, teasing, and spur of the moment fights that Hermione would never put a claim to starting. Of course, it was over petty things, like the times Draco had cheated on tests by looking over the girl's shoulder or the times he'd flipped over her skirt in middle school and claimed to be the FBI. At that stage of immaturity, that stood for "Female Body Inspector". And when he looked at her on these nights in the iridescent glow, from the moon and stars peering at them through the window, he teased her by saying he was still of that FBI. And though it was all in jest, and they hadn't kissed since the first late night he'd snuck into her room with a bounty on his head, his fingers itched to snatch her up. But, he was on probation, so stealing was out of the question.

It was on these nights that he felt the thrill of doing right and she of doing wrong.

Tonight was supposed to be an early goodbye, and Draco's dislike of Sundays only seemed to be solidified by this.

And yet, he'd coaxed her onto the roof he frequently walked on and plopped her down on a pillow and a stack of thick blankets he'd hauled over from his house. It was there that they sat- well, where Hermione sat and Draco lay. He was still in the process of persuading her to lie next to him, but she was a determined little pain in his butt.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Hermione asked, turning her head from the sky to look back at the slithering pale arm that had been trying to wrap around her waist.

"Admiring the view?" She was smiling, but her eyes were cautious, and he had to remind himself that he'd kissed her. Not the other way around. Still, a boy could dream and when Draco dreamed, apparently, he dreamed big. Too big.

"I didn't know I had stars painted on my back," she remarked, but her body was reacting in stark contrast to her careful tone. His fingers revered the curve of her spine as she pressed back against his hand and arm, going silent for a moment as he gingerly rubbed the small of her back. She was looking down at the empty driveway below with a certain degree of dismay that had nothing to do with Draco's less than subtle moves.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Hermione stretched out her arms, her shoulders arching up to nestle those thoughts swirling around in her head. She really did like the static feel that unexpectedly came with his touch, just didn't like that her exposure to that sensation was probably going to go down dramatically once that driveway below filled up again.

"My parents come back tomorrow with my brother," she sighed, finally letting herself fall onto the cushion below. Draco's arm curled nicely around her side, made her content enough to fall asleep there.

He nuzzled her hair, burrowed his lips and nose there before planting a temperate kiss on her head. She knew he was testing the murky waters, wondering if he needed to tread first or just dive right in. She wasn't sure herself, and the news she spoke aloud made him even more unsure than he already was. But he was good at figuring his way in the dark.

"If you don't tell, I won't," and it seemed to work to lighten her spirits. Hermione nestled in closer to him, and though it was less than what he aspired to do with her, it was more than enough. Nevertheless, he wasn't exactly used to being okay with cuddling. He had a hard time even accepting that term into his vocabulary, and yet he swallowed it down because this was different from all those other times and other girls. He had something to prove, with a less than pleasant past with her and a current criminal record that was miles long.

Maybe it was his pride keeping him from pursuing her harder. Either way, he was caught between not wanting to get shot down and not wanting her to think he was some dirty scumbag.

Which did raise the question: "Why take a chance on me?" The question hung between them. He could hear her calm breathing beside him, worried she could hear where his breathing was supposed to be but wasn't. He held it in wait, and it seemed as if she was intentionally postponing her answer just to see the guy pass out.

Hermione turned, resting her head on her shoulder as she looked over at his poker face.

"Why not?"

It was supposed to be a rhetorical question, Draco knew that much. But, as usual, he opened his mouth anyways.

Peering down at her incredulously, that cool mask plummeting the second she'd responded, he counted the reasons 'why not'. "Former bully, current badass, broke your car window, snuck into your _bedroom_ window, is that enough or should I go on?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose, whether in amusement or suspicion he wasn't sure. "Is there more? What, did you steal my pearls or something?"

"No, but where are they? Just in case this doesn't pan out."

She rolled her eyes and launched herself up to rest her chin on a fist he thought had been aimed at his face. From that angle and height, she had a good judgmental look about her and she was working it.

"I'm not fifty years old. My mom holds the pearls in this relationship so, if that's what you're after, you've wasted a good amount of time."

They were both grinning from ear to ear when their eyes met, and Draco's sneaky hands were finding their way under Hermione's tank top to the tantalizing skin beneath. Though they both silently wished for something more, he simply lingered there like a whispered reminder that he was definitely not after pearls.

"Seriously, Hermione. Why? You could've locked your window and been done with me after Friday night."

Again, she hesitated and the way she pursed her lips in thought almost put an end to the conversation completely. He was so close to just kissing her again. The only thing holding him back was the thought of how hard a fall he'd take if she shoved him off the roof.

"Your mother's birthday." Her casual statement made him jolt out of his trance and he looked at her, but even though their eyes met she seemed to be seeing something else.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Stop being so impatient," she muttered in reply. She exasperated him. "On your mother's birthday, you would come home. And not like the way you do when you're running from the police. You actually would go through the front door with a present, but sometimes the present was just you. And, I knew it was her birthday because she wouldn't act surprised when she saw you, or relieved. It was like she knew that that day was reserved for her, and that's how I knew you weren't all that bad."

Draco stared at her, and not in the way she was accustomed to when boys stared. It burned her skin and that blush that had been hiding just beneath the surface came out in full bloom. She wondered if she was supposed to be uncomfortable by how long and hard he looked at her, really looked at her, but she wasn't. In fact, she'd been waiting for him to see her for a long while.

He was the first to break the connection, looking down with a nervous laugh, like he'd been caught doing something completely embarrassing. And by his standards, this entire thing should've been embarrassing but it wasn't. It felt like he had been drowning and finally, he was getting a breath of fresh, crisp air.

"You're a little stalker, you know that?" He said when his laugh had died down and he turned to look back up at her. She bit her lip, her go at looking embarrassed.

"I'm your neighbor. Neighbors are supposed to be nosey."

Now he was raising eyebrows, his dormant hands suddenly revived as they pulled her even closer.

"Oh? And what else are they supposed to be, cause see, I haven't been a very good neighbor so far." He nuzzled her cheek, breathing in the excitement her smile and skin and body radiated hot against him. Her head had fallen back against the sheets, her hands taking their rightful place in his hair where they ran deviously.

He could feel her holding off a laugh, like she was trying to be serious and it was just making him feel more like a boy than a man and soon he too was trying to hold off a laugh.

"Well, for starters, neighbors don't go through other neighbor's windows," she murmured slyly.

He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths entangling as he let out a dramatic sigh.

"Strike two. I have some improving to do," he remarked against her temple as he tried to do just that. His hands upgraded to a new position just beneath that barrier of a bra strap where more smooth skin hid from him.

He heard the delightful sound of her breath hitching, felt the softest of pressures as her chest pressed against his, enjoyed the rapid beating heart that lay there. And, he knew that with her beneath him, she could easily feel his own feverish response.

He didn't know, though, how into it she was until her lips sealed themselves onto his. Finding out made him that much more enthralled and he returned the kiss ravenously, drinking and breathing her in all at the same time and hoping not to suffocate for it. And heaven knew Hermione couldn't spare a breath, between how tightly he was holding her against him and the lightheadness his tongue ensued when it snuck between her lips somehow. And yet, she managed to let out a moan she didn't even know she was capable of.

Boy, was she happy that the people in this neighborhood were heavy and early sleepers.

Hermione had aimed to make this a little harder of a chase for Draco, just as payback for complacently ignoring the girl at the window for so long. But, the kissing, the hungry strength of his hands on her as they slipped beneath clothe and bra wires, the subtle push of his hips against hers that just barely let her know she wasn't alone in want was making it that much harder for her to keep up the rouse. She would never say it out loud but she feared that beneath the clothes that separated them, she was just like him: always wanting and craving to take. Draco was just much more direct about it, while she hid behind a tentative smile and thickheaded textbooks.

She wanted all of his attention, and she was getting it readily.

The discreet snapping of her bra strap struck a chord inside her. Her hands, stunted before on his head and shoulders, slipped down between them. To say that jumping over fences and rooftops, and who knew what else, sculpted his chest would be an understatement. She clenched onto the fabric of his t-shirt, pressed against that chest, and forced him onto his back.

"Woah, there, cowgirl," he heaved when their lips parted. She straddled him and the look in his eyes when she glanced down was bordering on crazed. It gave her a thrill that ran from the tips of toes to the wicked smile on her face.

"Now that I've wrangled you, I have a proposition."

Draco groaned, his head falling back hopelessly against the roof. Naturally, he hit the sharper edge of a shingle instead of the protective sheets. And then she rolled her hips, swiftly getting his attention just as she'd planned, the crafty thing.

"Listening," he breathed, to which she smiled and it almost made up for what a cock block she was being. Her hands ran up his chest, lingered as she apparently contemplated whatever she'd already settled in her mind.

"My hesitation at doing anything on a roof aside, I refuse to give anything until I get a little something first," she started, too smug at having him right where she wanted him. He would give her his lungs if he had to.

Still, he couldn't help himself from scoffing at her. "Belittling my inability to satisfy a woman, aside," he mimicked, eying her as she pursed those bruisingly delicious lips.

"Oh, yes, forgot that: your inability to satisfy a woman, aside," to that she felt the kick of a knee against her butt. "I want you to promise me something."

She was all smiles and amusement, but there was a serious undertone that made him sober up just a tad. His hands slipped from her waist and settled on her thighs, where she held them. "Anything, Hermione."

She took his hands and pulled them up to her lips, her sweet kiss grazing over his knuckles. "Promise that you'll stop cheating the law. No more stealing cars or purses or a baby's ice cream cone, okay?"

He sighed. "I thought you liked my bad boy allure."

"I also like a good murder mystery but I don't want it to actually be real," she shot back. When he rolled his eyes, mostly from habit, she clutched his hands tighter and then plastered them on either side of his head. She was leaning down close, trying to buy a promise with the tease of her body.

Unfortunately for Draco, the glimpse and feel of breasts were helping her bribe quite well.

"I promise," he muttered under his breath.

Another torturous roll of hips breezed past the zipper of his pants, made him buck in weal reply.

"I promise!" He called out and if he ever tried to say he never said this, the rest of the neighborhood would probably call him out on his lie.

Really, all she would've had to do to make him say those two words was smile. And she did, she beamed like a kid who'd worked her way to the cookie jar.

But she was walking away from the cookie jar.

Draco was stumbled when he felt the constraints of her hands on his wrists disappear. And she was making to get up.

"Woah, woah, woah, where'd my side of the deal go?" He howled as he scrambled to get up after her. She was already slipping through her window, a victorious hop to her step that irritated him beyond belief.

"Oh, I'm going to put a rain check on that," she chimed as she turned to face him, her hands poised to close her window before he could seek his revenge. She was enjoying his agitation way too much.

"Are you seriously going to give me blue balls?" He yelled at the glass as the window slid shut.

"Consider this my well planned payback. And be happy I gave you anything at all!" She practically sung through to him. He gawked, his hands against the glass longingly, begging.

"Hermione!"

"Goodnight, Draco." She planted a kiss to the window, and for the first time in his life he was jealous of a piece of glass.

* * *

It was with his foolish promise in mind and way too much time on his hands, Draco roamed the streets of his cookie-cutter neighborhood with less than cookie-cutter people inside it. Each house and park he passed was filled with the secret drug addict or alcoholic, there was a pedophile sitting somewhere between jail and the nearest school, and even the kids were a pain in the ass. He'd been a pain in the ass as a kid, too, so they got less dirty looks from him than the others at least.

He needed distractions, and this place was void of any besides one. And she was sitting in a classroom, probably still buzzing with joy from getting a go at him. Hermione had grown into herself, that for sure. He liked to imagine that he had a lot to do with that, what with the teasing he'd given her. It had to have strengthened her somehow and though he wished he'd never done it now that he was getting to know the little bookworm, he couldn't help but like the wit his girl had. Even if it left him writhing in bed, alone, and only the mental image of her to give release.

That mental image was exactly the reason he needed distractions, ones that didn't have curves or sneaky agendas and open windows. But Mondays were the worst at grabbing his attention. People were too tired and morbid to be exciting to watch and kids were suddenly running all over the place as they tried to get to and back from school. But they were more annoying than entertaining.

Right now, however, was the in-between time when the streets were crypts and he had to occasionally hide away from the scouting cop car.

He wasn't about to deal with those pesky questions like "why aren't you in school?" and "don't I know your face from the system on my laptop?" Honestly, the last thing he needed was to get hauled off on earlier charges and then never get the chance to cash in his rain check.

It was as he dodged one car that he ran into another. It pulled up beside him on the other side of the town park and the sleek black Cadillac told him his promise was about to get put to the test.

When the tinted windows rolled down, Draco wasn't fooled by the smile he was met with. The man behind the wheel was a much cleverer criminal than he or his father could ever be, since he never got accused or charged. Instead, he was rolling in money from drug transactions and other shady businesses, including the car dealership that bought anything Draco or the other neighborhood thugs stole. Tom Riddle was the head of the snake, his cool exterior just as dark and sleek as his car, making him hard to catch and even harder to read. But, for the most part, Draco was on good terms with the man. He'd helped his family on multiple occasions, had comforted his mother when Lucius was arrested, and even hid Draco when the cops got too seriously interested in finding him.

"Draco, you were missed this weekend. I was expecting to wake up to a few new cars on my lot," Tom calmly stated, his eyes sharply watching the boy. Draco shrugged, kept walking. The car followed suit.

"I had other engagements."

A pause where the only sound was the smooth purr of the Cadillac.

"Oh, I should have known. Your mother probably needed you to stay home for a while, I assume," the man sighed heavily, as if grieved by some news Draco clearly had not received. Draco stopped in his tracks.

"What're you talking about?"

Tom feigned shock. "What, you don't know?"

"Obviously not," Draco huffed but he cut himself short of a scowl when he felt those eyes on him narrow, and he remembered how much Tom disliked disrespect. He swallowed, hard.

"Well, it would seem I have to be the bearer of bad news. They're going to take the house, Draco." The car had come to a stop beside Draco, but he felt as if the entire street was moving. He shook his head, confused.

"The courts? Why? I thought they said we could keep it."

Tom sighed, a skeletal hand running through his hair in mirrored frustration. "I know, but a lawyer of mine disclosed to me that the case is still open and more and more people are filing claims against your father and the rest of his financial group. It would seem that he had poor judgment in friends, because they're all reporting he headed the scheme."

"He was just trying to make some more money for us," Draco said absently, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in his mother's company and wondering if she'd received the notice yet.

"I know, my boy. I know. But, see, that lawyer of mine is a clever man and I think I can get him onto Lucius's case. He could probably work some magic, get the house out of the equation or at least buy your mother, and yourself, time to find another place."

Especially now, Draco had no interest in moving. And the idea of seeing his mother go through that process made him sick to his stomach. It was as if his father's reign over her life was never-ending.

He sighed, fists clenching and unclenching in his jean pockets, matching the ache in his temples as a headache came about. Tom didn't do anything without a price attached, and usually it had nothing to do with money.

"If you could do that, I'd be extremely grateful."

The man smiled, and Draco couldn't help imagining Hermione's smile in contrast. The difference made him sicker than he already felt.

"I'm glad to hear I can be of assistance. Now, about the problem that is that empty lot of mine. How about you hop in for a little ride. I got a plan for how to solve it."

Tom didn't move to open the door, but the ominous click of the passenger side unlocking was invitation enough.

"Come on, Draco," the man drawled. "We have catching up to do."


	3. Chapter 3

The slamming of a car door rang deafening to ears that were waiting long to hear it. Hermione perked up from the laptop she'd been furiously typing on, her attention automatically turning with her to the window. She twirled around in her chair, the wheels squeaking as she rolled over to the glass and peered outside. Down below, she could see the tall and broad figure of her father, and the following much nimbler, fairy-like body of her mother from the passenger side. But the one she'd been waiting most anxiously for took his time getting out of the back seat of her father's SUV. And, from the less than happy faces of her parents, Hermione, though confused as to why, figured her brother didn't exactly want to come out.

Still, she hauled out of the confines of her room, forgetting the English paper she was in the process of editing for the sixteenth time, and flew out the door to greet the boy. The unsuspecting gangly figure was still in the process of getting out of the car when she pounced.

"Harry!" She cried, leaping onto his back as he tried in vain to close the door. An overexcited sister clinging to his shoulders made it all that much harder to do, but the quiet smile on his face made her confident he didn't really care about the obstacle.

When Hermione finally released him, Harry turned to whisk his sister into a hug meant to make up for a year away. He was taller than she remembered him being when he'd left for Cambridge and yet he still felt the same. Still Harry with hair that hadn't been brushed in weeks, glasses that wobbled precariously on his face, long arms and legs that made him more tree than boy. She'd been afraid that her parents would bring back a man who was foreign to her, grown up from the sarcasm and idiocy of adolescence into a more distant figure whose mind was still roaming his college halls.

Instead, he was whining about hair in his mouth. Apparently, somehow, her locks had weaseled their way past his glasses and into his eyes, too.

"So, how is it? Is it as wonderful as it looked on paper?" She sighed excitedly when he'd dropped her back to the ground. "Is it hard work? How are the professors?"

"You do know you can just ask these questions when you go for orientation, right?" He shied away from the question, his eyes hesitantly looking over to the entrance where their parents had disappeared into.

"I suppose, but those people always sugarcoat reality. I want to know the truth before I even_ think_ of going there," she replied, though her mind was following Harry's and she wondered what had both him and their parents all bothered.

"Right, so you haven't already made a PowerPoint with the pros and cons of each school," he muttered absently.

She stopped him short of walking into the house, forcing him to look at her and what he would see was a mixture of annoyance and distress. "What happened?"

Harry scratched his head, his already frazzled brown hair becoming even more so.

"Look, mum and dad already gave me the third degree. I don't need you judging me, alright?"

He was making for the door again and already their sibling reunion had gone sour. She got to the doorknob first and closed it behind her. "I promise not to, this one time," she added when he started to roll his eyes. "Tell me. You know I won't stop asking and, if I have to, I'll just ask dad."

He sighed, fidgeting with his too-big glasses. "Fine, you win. Look, I just- okay, so I'm not exactly staying for the summer."

"Are you going back for a summer term? I can understand why they'd be frustrated that you won't be here long but-"

"No," Harry muttered. He sucked in a deep breath. " 'Mione, I'm not going back at all."

She stared back at him, dumbfounded. "What?" She heard herself say, like it was bouncing back to her ears through a thick pane of glass.

"I said, I'm not going."

Draco huffed, his fingers almost tearing holes in his jean pockets after he'd had to repeat an already strained answer. It hadn't taken him long to utter the words once Tom had offered a ride that would surely end in Draco breaking his promise to Hermione. He'd blurted it out automatically, not even thinking about his mother or house because he just couldn't afford to think about it. But when Tom had asked for him to clarify, it had taken everything in Draco to reassert himself. Sure, Tom hadn't outright said that if he didn't get something back from Draco then he wouldn't help him out. But, Draco had been around this man long enough to know what the deal was.

Tom's eyes were watching him stoically and Draco could feel ice developing from the man's stare. Those dark eyes finally looked away as Tom heaved a sigh, his face looking wistfully at the road ahead. It was almost certain that the two of them were seeing two diverging ways.

The door clicked shut again, and Draco almost allowed himself to feel relief.

"You know where to find me when you change your mind," Tom replied casually.

Draco shook his head, kicking a rock away in hopes that his agitation would somehow transfer onto it. "No, man. I'm sorry but I've got a girl now and I'm trying to clean up my record," he tried to say but Tom already had a hand raised against him.

"I understand, Draco. Someone in the family needs to take responsibility, and it should be you. So, do what you feel is best."

Draco felt as if there was a boulder in his throat and he saw that Tom's road was leading farther and farther away from Draco's and his mother's best interest. The man was moving to shift his car back into drive and, stupid as it was, Draco put a hand on Tom's car.

There was a sharp hiss from inside and Draco recoiled. Still, Tom had stopped long enough for Draco to get back his attention.

"You'll let me know about that lawyer, right?" He tried not to sound desperate but the image of his mother having to move what little furniture they had left out of their home was enough to drive him mad. Even as controlled as he was trying to be, minus trying to cling to the car, Tom could tell Draco was hanging on a wire. There was a quirk to the man's lips before he frowned, his fingers drumming against his steering wheel.

"I don't know, Draco. He's a busy man, but I'll see what I can do," he muttered, his voice and face matched in its disinterest. He wasn't even trying to look troubled by the Malfoys' state of affairs anymore. He was probably already thinking of someone else to do his bidding. "He'll be looking to get paid and with less income, I don't know if I'll be able to offer what he'll want."

They both knew that was a lie. The man was loaded. He didn't even really live here, had a condo in the city where prices ran high and crime even higher. That was where he got most of his drug profit, but this was where he could suck the life out of any bored kid with nothing better to do than try to impress a big shot.

With a father locked away, Draco had been a perfect candidate when he was younger. It hadn't taken much for Tom to take the boy under his crooked wing after being introduced during his father's trial. He'd started out doing little things for the family, helping gain connections with lawyers and giving tips to Narcissa and Lucius on how to work the case to their benefit. All the while, he'd been taking Draco to the city, showing him everything he and his mother could get if Draco just made some money on the side. Tom had mentored him on how to be the smug criminal Draco thought he was. But he'd been played, and Tom was still strumming his tune. Draco just couldn't hear it.

"Are you sure you didn't hear wrong? Maybe that guy was misinformed," Draco huffed, those hands back in his pockets and digging for hope he wasn't likely to find.

Tom shrugged as Draco tried to find any alternative that could ease his bubbling panic. He was quickly looking more and more annoyed by Draco's persistence and simple being.

"That is a possibility. Do what you will with the information I've given you. I'll do what I can, as long as you do what you can," and with that the Cadillac was awake, gliding away with Draco's last chance in the driver's seat.

He tried not to look completely screwed, but it wasn't really working.

"Fuck."

The elementary school bell tolled, barely reminding him that he'd come out here with a very different purpose in mind. And, as the kids swarmed around him and through the park, Draco made his way down the road that lead towards Hermione.

* * *

Hermione lead her brother to her room, pushing the door shut against the tension that filled the house like slime. Her parents downstairs were silently mourning, talking in whispers about what Hermione could only guess was Harry's future and the state of it. With her room closed to the awkward silence, they were finally free to talk.

He was already ready for the onslaught, his glasses writhing between his hands and eyes staring way too intensely at her rug. It became blatantly apparent that he didn't want to see the look on Hermione's face. But, besides being shocked by the news that her brother had dropped out of college, Hermione's expression was devoid of that disappointment they'd both seen in mom and dad.

"But I thought you wanted to be a chemist? Did you just, I don't know, not like it there?" She asked as she dropped down on her bed, an invisible weight on her shoulders making the impact harsh. She was having a hard time wrapping her heavy head around what must've happened. All she could remember was Harry constantly talking about going into chemistry and, since it wasn't biology like their parents, Hermione had figured it was a decision of his own making.

Harry pursed his lips, put his glasses back on after rubbing the lens way too thoroughly for a boy whose bedroom still reeked of dirty socks, and sat down at Hermione's desk.

"I thought I did?" His hands were in the air, as if Hermione was supposed to have all the answers. Usually, she did. But not this time. "I guess I did, for a while I was sure I did. Honestly, with you being you, I felt like I needed to go off and cure mortality or something."

Hermione ran her hands down her face before they plummeted down and onto her crossed legs. "Harry, I thought we talked about this."

"I know, I kno-" He should've known better than to try and get a word in.

"You're my brother, and you're their son, and just because you didn't get mum or dad's genes doesn't mean you have to compensate for it. You're smart, all on your own, and you don't have to try and constantly prove it. If you didn't want to study chemistry, you didn't have to," she rambled on and Harry was having a hard time stopping her from getting too riled up. Her hair was reaching astronomical heights, her hands moving about in ways Harry just couldn't keep up with.

" 'Mione. Sissy. _Hermione_," he beaconed to her, waving his hands in front of her flustered face. She finally took a well-needed breath, let it out in a puff that flew so far it left a dent in Harry's hair.

He bit back a laugh, knowing well that she didn't like to be laughed at when she got this way. "It's not that. Well, maybe it was a little bit but, you know, adopted or not: I'm a boy. I'm going to change my mind every which way until I finally get hit upside the head with reason."

Her face collapsed with relief. "Really? You weren't trying?"

"No, Hermione. I was just making dumb choices," he soothed her.

Her shoulders relaxed along with her nerves. But she was still wary as she looked her brother over, wondering if his next choice was going to consist of finding himself in the desert. "Are you sure you're not making another dumb choice?"

Now, he laughed. "No, I'm not. I think I finally got this one right."

Hermione stared at her brother, contemplating the green eyes, the black hair, the lanky legs that always hit the wall when he sat at her desk or sprawled all the way to her bed and took up the entire room. He looked nothing like his adoptive family, but he had been Hermione's other half since he'd first came home when she was five and he was on the verge of turning eight. They'd been inseparable and they'd been each other's backbone for as long as she could remember. He had trusted every choice she'd ever made, so whatever choice he made she would back up wholeheartedly.

As long as it wasn't something crazy, of course. He was known for making very odd decisions when she wasn't around to hit him back to sanity.

"What's your plan, now?" She ventured to ask.

Now his features lit up like a Christmas tree, and those legs of his hauled him and the seat over to where she sat on the edge of her bed. He grabbed her hands and held them tight, like he was already trying to sooth her nerves.

"Okay, don't freak out."

"Why would I?" He shook his head.

"You always do, don't play that card." She shut her mouth.

"Okay, so," he paused to add suspense. If he wasn't holding her hands, she'd probably slap the information out of him. "I'm going to go into the police academy."

She nearly shat a brick.

"No," he murmured, slowly shaking his head. "No, no, no. I thought I said no freaking out."

She took a deep breath, gripped his hands in hers, closed her eyes, tried not to find any irony behind her eyelids. "Mhmm, I'm not. No, I'm just," she trailed off, opened her eyes to see Harry look completely concerned and gave as convincing a smile as she could. "I'm just surprised, is all!"

He slouched in relief. "Well, I hope it's a good surprised because I already enrolled."

"Wow, Harry. I mean, I never knew you wanted to be an officer," she stammered. He was beaming, his grin making it hard for her not to be happy for him.

"You remember when I tried investigating my biological parents?"

Hermione scoffed. "Yes, you were ten and you thought the fake badge you wore would make the police give you information."

"Okay, there you go! I was really into it. And after I actually found out what happened to my parents, I thought about how I didn't want that to happen to another family."

"Harry." She'd remembered the day he'd turned eighteen clearly. He'd wanted so bad for his birthday gift to be seeing who his parents were only to find out from his files that they'd been killed by a robber. He had reassured them all that it wasn't too devastating, that he'd been raised by a wonderful family and he was happy with how he'd lived. But, Hermione had never completely bought it.

"Have you stopped talking since I left?" He teased, making her smile. "I went off to Cambridge already feeling as if I hadn't gone the right route. And, after taking a handful of courses, I realized how not made for college I was."

"You always were the procrastinator," she mumbled.

"Compared to you, everyone is," he shot back.

"Sorry I do my homework." She pursed her lips, glancing off at her window, where she saw a familiar shadow taking form. If it were possible to shit two bricks, she was about to do just that.

"Two months ahead of time?" He asked, but she was suddenly on her feet with a fumble and tumble off her bed. She barely got to see Draco's confused blue eyes look at her and her brother before she pulled her curtains together with a rushed and mouthed "sorry". Her heart was about to collide with the glass.

Now was not exactly the time for an introduction.

She turned her back to the window, heard a mumbled stream of curses from the other side of the window, and saw a more than confused Harry staring back at her.

"Sorry, the sun was right in my eye," she blurted before sitting back down. "Okay, so I go overboard. It was to make sure I got into Cambridge, too, so I could go to the same school as you," she reasoned, trying to get Harry's attention away from the curtains.

She succeeded. He turned back to her with an incredulous look. "It was all your fault that I worked half as hard as I did. If I got accepted there, you're a shoe in."

She feigned a frown. "But you won't be there."

Harry laughed. "Do you really want your brother at the same university as you? High school was one thing, but college is another animal altogether. But, if you really want me there, after I finish training I can be your personal security. That way, no boy will ever lay a hand on you," he threatened smugly. She gawked at him, wanting the complete opposite of just that.

"I'd rather you didn't!" She shot.

Harry looked at her sideways, questioningly. "Well, that hurt my feelings."

She rolled her eyes, trying to play it casual. "No, it didn't."

"You're wrong, but whatever. Are you still applying to Cambridge, then?"

"Of course," it had already been sent in.

"Where else? I heard mum talk about Harvard but I don't like the idea of you in America. Doesn't work," he thought aloud, looking like he'd swallowed something sour.

"Doesn't work? What, am I not cool enough?" She scowled, and he grinned.

"No, it works. I just know that the old people downstairs don't want you so far away."

She sighed. "It's the best law school, it'd be foolish not to apply."

"And they would let you go, after complaining for a good month or so about how you owe it to them to stay somewhat nearby. And now, they'll hold it to you to go to Cambridge since I couldn't follow through," he chimed.

"This is all your fault," she groaned.

"Just imagine it this way: I'll catch the bad guys and you'll put them in jail. We'll be the perfect duo."

There was a rustling outside her window, the familiar scrapping of feet against clay. She tried not to look in that general direction. She didn't want Harry catching any bad guys just yet.

"So, which one would you rather go to?" He pulled her back into the present. She blinked, momentarily stumped.

"Who says I'll have a choice?"

He looked at her incredulously. "Putting aside the fact that you've applied to over 100 schools, there's no way Harvard would overlook you."

She bit her lip, knowing well there was an anomaly here when it came to going anywhere anytime soon. She wasn't used to having something outside of school to worry about. It had been for this reason she'd ended her last relationship. But, this was different.

"I don't know," she confessed. Harry looked taken aback, and she could only imagine how her parents would react to her not knowing something for once. Let alone not knowing which university she wanted to go to.

"Speechless," he articulated as he got up from her chair. "On that note, I leave you to contemplate your fate seeing as you're the golden child now."

She rolled her eyes. "You know they're just worried, that's a dangerous job, Harry."

He waved his hand at her. "I know, they'll get over it."

He was halfway out the door when she stopped him again.

"Harry," he turned towards her expectantly. She felt the words lodge themselves in her throat. "Do you remember the Malfoys?"

His features darkened substantially. "Is that punk bothering you again? I know you told me to leave it alone when your car was vandalized but, Hermione, once I'm official he'll be paying for that and whatever he's doing now. Promise."

It wasn't exactly the answer she'd been hoping for. She repressed a groan.

"No, no, he's not. You know what, nevermind. I'll talk to you about it later," she tried her hand at being nonchalant, and she thought it worked for the most part. Harry shrugged.

"Whatever." And then, when the door was safely shut behind him, she scrambled for the window coverings.

Pulling them back, Hermione saw that the shadow was gone.

[A/N: thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you'll like what I have coming up!]


	4. Chapter 4

He was developing an unhealthy relationship with glass, from breaking it to staring through it on a daily basis. And the window he looked through now, awaiting the person on the other side, wasn't the one he'd expected to be at all day, let alone at any point this month. The walls around him were sterile, grey, making it that much less enticing to him. The company, a mix of police officers, felons, and the people unlucky enough to be attached to those felons, made his feet itch to run off. But his mother sat in the hall, probably more than prepared to trip Draco if he even thought of trying to escape.

He needed a break from all of this. He'd wanted to sit on a rooftop, dropping leaves into a girl's hair and watching her whine about it, and maybe even yell at the sky for royally screwing up his life and thinking it funny to screw it up even more when things had started to go right. Instead, he looked through windows at things so out of reach.

But, for once, he was glad this particular person was out of his hands' reach.

There was a shuffling of feet on the other side of the glass, a splash of blinding orange and then the tell-tale white blonde hair of a Malfoy. Lucius was looking worse for wear as he sat down in front of his son and yet he still managed to hold his head with a degree of entitlement.

"Hello, son," the voice on the phone said, a peculiar mix of the usual stiff decorum and uncomfortable surprise. Draco held the phone away from his ear, trying to keep Lucius Malfoy as much at bay as he possibly could after this day's news. Even though it originally had been Draco's brilliant idea to come here, it wasn't one made out of want but necessity. If anyone was going to validate what he'd heard from Tom, it would be this man.

"Hello, father."

Through the thick glass wall, his father sat in a poised fashion that, for once, was not mirrored by Draco. Usually, when his mother brought him to visit Lucius, the boy wore a suit, fidgeted with ties and with posture just to get the approval he'd never gotten before Lucius was taken away. The etiquette Narcissa encouraged in her son had been degrading for a while but now it had completely dropped off Draco's list of things to give a shit about. Apparently, Lucius had yet to check it off his own list even though he was the one in an orange jumpsuit.

"What on earth are you wearing?" Came the sharp response to Draco's usual attire: jeans, slightly baggy band shirt, sneakers. Well, if he was having a hissy fit over this modest dressing, Draco should have added the hoodie in. Maybe even worn his torn-up jeans, just for flavor. But, he was planning to visit Hermione after this, and she was still high on his list of things to give a shit about.

Still, the thought of her tasted bitter on his tongue after his last attempt to visit her.

"Dad, I need to talk to you." Draco tried to steer Lucius's gaze away from his clothes long enough to get his actual attention. But his father was still intent on making his disgust clearly known.

"I will not talk to a hoodlum. Is this how you dress to see your father?"

Draco's jaw clenched, along with his hold on the phone.

"This is how I dress to meet anyone. You should be glad I even came," Draco muttered, trying to keep the conversation quiet so that his mother, only a few paces away, wouldn't hear or interfere.

Lucius's lips thinned, almost disappearing against the white of his stone face. Draco remembered vividly how small he felt when confronted with that fierce expression, but now there was a wall through which Lucius would never be able to break through. At least, not for a few more years.

"And why exactly have you come, if not to pay your respect?"

Draco scoffed. "I pay respect to the dead, not the imprisoned, father." He tried not to be excessively rude, but his nerves were wearing thin with each passing minute. Today was just one of those days when everything decided to turn against him, kick him over, and leave him winded on the pavement. He had no energy left to spare for his father.

He took a moment to herd his thoughts back together while Lucius watched him with building tension, his father's eyes briefly glancing away to see his wife in the background. By the discouraged look on his face when he looked back at his son, Draco, on the other hand, was encouraged to know that his mother refused to look at Lucius. It served him right. Even if they both knew she'd forgive him in the end, as Draco would. But that time was far away and right now, he enjoyed the look of regret his father wore like shackles.

"What is it that you want, Draco?"

Finally. Draco heaved a breath, quickly glancing over his shoulder at his mother. He noted the drawn lines on her face, the ones she used to pride herself in never having. She, much like his father, had a pride about her no matter where she was. She sat, elegance in a dungeon. She also, thankfully, looked blatantly ignorant of the conversation the two of them were having.

"Is it true that they're taking away the house?" He was leaning in, voice lowered to keep it between he, the phones, and Lucius. Eyes much like his own widened at the accusation, sputtered against the speaker. It was answer enough, but he wanted Lucius to admit to it with his own words. He realized, quite aggressively, that he needed his father to accept what he had done and admit to it, in only a few words.

"Who told you this?"

"Does it matter? Is it true or not?"

Lucius sighed, putting the phone to his forehead as he looked down at the blank table before him. Unfortunately for him, there were no answers there.

There was static on the line as his father put the phone to his shoulder and then, finally, to his ears. "Does your mother know?"

Draco almost threw the phone through the glass, felt his joints lock into place as his knuckles clenched into a death grip around the piece of crap. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the man before him. He had to remind himself that he couldn't make a show about it, couldn't scream that aging scream he'd had writhing in the back of his throat for years. He took a breath, let it sting as it rushed through his nostrils, let that sting overrule that bitterness building on his tongue.

"No," he breathed out. "She doesn't, but she will know when the notice comes. Tell me, father, were you going to make her wait until then to find out? Were you going to wait for us to read it off a paper because you're too much of a coward to tell us yourself?"

Lucius braced himself against the accusations, swiftly coming to his own defense.

"How dare you speak to me like that," he seethed.

"I can speak to you any which way I please. You're scum," Draco hissed through the phone. He was quickly losing his determination to keep calm, his temper naturally inherited from Lucius. It was one of the many reasons why conversations between the two were far and in-between. And when they weren't, they were short and loud. The two of them were mirrored on either side of that glass, both too close to that invisible wall.

"I did what I did for the sake of this family."

Draco laughed darkly. Oh, he'd been telling himself that for years now.

"And that's why we're going to be on the streets, good job there."

There was the clatter of high heels, the kind that used to chase Draco down his home's halls when he was a child. His mother was approaching, but whose side would she take?

"Perhaps, if you'd gotten yourself through school and gotten an honest job, that wouldn't be the case," Lucius spat against the line, his critical eye once more ridiculing a son he'd deserted.

"Oh, so you're blaming me now? That's rich, coming from such an '_honest_' man." If not for the wall, Draco's venom would have been tangible against Lucius's skin.

And, if not for the warm hand that firmly held Draco's shoulder, he may have destroyed that wall.

"Draco," came his mother's voice from behind, iron to match her hold on him. But, the warning should have been directed at the man on the other line, the one she could see but could not hear. Or maybe she could. By the looks from some other individuals, she wouldn't be the only one to be privy to the conversation now.

"Your mother has told me about how you disappear for days, come back with scuffs on your knuckles and money in your pockets. You're a disgrace," Lucius accused, not paying his wife a single look as he tore into his son.

"Draco, calm down," Narcissa warned again as his muscles tensed against her palm. But it only egged him further. He dared to shrug off her hand, leaned further into the table and into his long buried frustration and betrayal.

"Me? I'm a disgrace? How am I any worse than you? At least I'm direct, you swindled these people with a smile on your face and promises spewing out that mouth of yours. And now they're going to take everything from you."

"That's quite enough, Draco," both of his parents' voices melded together, a cacophony that reflected their life.

"No, no I don't think it is but I'm tired of sitting here, looking at what used to be my father," Draco spat before he finally let go of the phone. He tossed it, not bothering to hang it up correctly as he turned away and stormed down the hall with his mother following shortly after.

She didn't like making a scene in public, loathed it almost as much as Lucius enjoyed creating one. Unfortunately for Draco, he'd inherited his father's tendencies. It was unfortunate for him particularly because, the second they got into Narcissa's car, the air between the driver's and passenger's seat became toxic.

"I cannot believe you, Draco. Of all the things to do," she seethed as she drove, the car incredibly calm on the road in contrast to the rage he could see brewing in her eyes.

"I won't apologize," Draco ventured, his mouth jumping in front of his brain.

"To me, yes you will! If not for everything else you'd decided to do, then for this! He is your father," she unnecessarily reminded him. He rolled his eyes but instantly regretted it when he felt the sting of her eyes on him.

Yet, when he looked back at her, she was staring steadily at the road ahead. Her face was refined, an image of aging perfection to anyone looking through the car window. It was her eyes that gave her away, made him wilt in his seat. It wasn't just the anger there but the disappointment, the exhaustion from carrying the weight of the family. And Hermione had been right. Draco was just adding to those wrinkles on her face.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, a necessary breeze through the tension. It relaxed her, but there was still a stern look about the way she held her lips.

"And you'll apologize to your father when we visit again tomorrow," she tagged on.

He gawked, sitting up in his seat as if he was ready to leap out of the car. "No, no I won't. He should be apologizing to us!"

"He's repenting, Draco. He has been repenting for years now in a cell, alone, and with the knowledge that he's disgraced his family," Narcissa replied smoothly, rehearsed. Did she tell herself that just as he had?

"No, he's sorry for himself. Not for us."

She spared him a glance, and in them he saw a cluster of expressions she'd hidden away for years behind the cool mask of a Malfoy.

"What makes you say that, Draco?"

He swallowed, knowing his biggest ammunition he couldn't dare tell her. Draco broke away, turning his eyes to the blurred scenery outside.

"He's always been like that. He cares more about his name than his family."

It didn't occur to Draco that his mother was smoothly coming to a stop, having moved to the curb by the park he'd only just this morning been hiding in. She grabbed hold of his jaw, forcing him to face her.

"Don't you ever think that he does not do what he can for this family. He's been a fool, and he is paying for it in every way imaginable but the one thing he will not lose is you and I," she stated resolutely, her demand absolute. "And I will not let you walk out on him or me, again. Do you understand me?"

"Mum," he started, but the pressure of her fingers against his cheeks increased tenfold and her nails were just as sharp as her stare.

"I said, do you understand me?"

He bit down on that bitterness rising again in his throat like bile. "I don't. I don't understand you."

She huffed, her hand falling away from his face and taking its place on the steering wheel. She was easing her way back onto the road.

"Why do you continuously defend him?" He asked, though they both knew the answer. He was just too angry, too stubborn to find it in him.

"No more, Draco. No more," Narcissa sighed as they drove on, and he could swear he saw another wrinkle form on her face.

Though it made him regret arguing with his mother, it didn't defuse him. Draco wouldn't stop the anger that drove him just because someone told him he needed to, even if it was his mother. She didn't know what was going on, so what right have she to say anything?

He conveniently forgot to remind himself that he was the one who'd, much like his father, decided to keep her utterly in the dark.

And he would do just that, keep it all to himself in simmering silence as they drove home, as she parked, as they got out of the car. And even as a face poked out the doorway next door, a familiar one he'd been aiming to see all day, he wouldn't spare the eager "hi" a reply.

If it was up to him, he'd keep the whole world in the dark. Or, from the look he glimpsed on Hermione's face before he retreated into his house, until Hermione found a flashlight.

[A/N: so sorry for such a short chapter, my brain has been all "asdlkjasd" over the reviews you all have left me so I've been a bit out of it. Horrible excuse, I know! I hope you like what I've conjured up so far and I do believe the next chapter is going to lengthy to compensate for this blip. Again, thank you guys so much for the wonderful reviews!]


	5. Chapter 5

[A/N: So sorry for the wait! Trying to get back into the swing of college life and, now, apartment life so things have been a bit hectic. Hopefully, the wait was worth it! From now on, I should be updating every other week, roughly so. We'll see how things roll out but I will definitely try to make my updates more consistent. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Enjoy! :) ]

Since the moment she'd moved in beside the much larger, much colder Malfoy residence and realized that none of its occupants knew or cared for neighborly customs, such as morning greetings or even a spared glance or nod in the Grangers' direction, Hermione had made it her homework to pretend as if beside her parents' garage lay an empty lot. She'd grown accustom to the oblivious, detached neighbors who lived next door, to the ritualistic way in which she would narrow her visual pathway, intentionally erasing one particularly snide face that every once in a while would cross her path. And, in turn, she'd grown immune to the equally ritualistic way Draco Malfoy didn't even know she existed; Outside of the playground taunting, of course. But, even though that had been the case for years, the blunt force of his current and adamant rejection as he breezed past her, as if she hadn't uttered a word in his space, left a dent in her gut that she most certainly was not accustom to.

It unhinged her. And, when her feelings weren't completely tucked together, organized and easy to label, Hermione was determined to screw everything back together in order to hinge herself once more.

And this would be no different. He was obviously upset about something but was he really so put-off about that morning?

Being ignored wasn't his strong suit, it would seem. So, was he giving her the same treatment?

She knew he was a spoiled thing, even during his riches to rags transition, but this would be an all-time low in his character development. Which was why Hermione promptly decided something else was brewing beneath his sulky surface.

That suspicion only grew stronger when Narcissa Malfoy climbed out of her car, letting Draco seethe by the door in wait. She took her time silently gathering her things, only the sound of the car shutting off calling Hermione's attention to the other Malfoy. Narcissa had always been a source of mixed emotion for Hermione, ever since she was a child watching the mother and wife lug around two temperamental brats. Even now, as she looked on her as a lioness would look upon another large predator, she tried hard to figure out whether or not Narcissa was a threat or a subject of respect. It would take her a lifetime of observing the woman before her to truly understand that the lady of the Malfoy family was both to revere and fear.

But at that moment, as Narcissa's ice blue eyes landed on her with a peculiar tinge of curiosity that somewhat matched her own yet cut sharper and deeper in its stare, Hermione was more than comfortable with deciding that Draco's mother was a source of fear.

"Miss Granger, I presume?"

She'd never been addressed by Mrs. Malfoy in all the years they'd gotten into cars side-by-side, a part of Hermione's personal training to never acknowledge a parallel existence beside her own. Her voice wasn't as Hermione had predicted, smooth like marble but with an undercurrent of fire that she'd only noted once or twice in Draco's voice.

And her direct gaze was just as, if not more so, unnerving.

"Yes, ma'am." Without Hermione's permission, her body straightened as she spoke. She wasn't completely sure why she felt compelled to impress the lady that, in all respects, never paid her any mind. It was one thing to preach to Draco about being respectful of his mother, but it was completely another thing for Hermione to find herself practicing what she had preached. How many years had they lived like this without a single "Hello" uttered on the sidewalk? And the one time it had occurred, only moments ago, she hadn't even received a reply.

The corners of Narcissa Malfoy's lips fluttered up just long enough for Hermione to realize Narcissa was amused but, naturally, not long enough to decide if that was even a good thing. Draco had inherited his backhanded expressions from someone and, from the few blunt outbursts she'd seen on Lucius Malfoy's account, it wasn't from his father.

Narcissa turned away then, sparing Hermione an awkward stretch of silence between the two clashing species of woman, and made her way to her home's door, and to her son.

Who had yet to grant Hermione a single glance.

"Hermione?" A familiar voice she should've been prepared to hear called out from behind, yanking her mind away from the anxiety and aggravation that was slowly muddling her thoughts. "A little help?"

Her body turned before her eyes did, pupils still trying to download data, still trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with Draco this time. But, when they did finally and reluctantly avert their attention away from love quarrels to brotherly whining, Hermione felt a flush of embarrassment.

Harry was staring at her incredulously, a box from their parent's car bearing down on his arms while he waited impatiently for Hermione to man the door that was sealed shut against his way to relief. It was what she'd been doing before she'd unconsciously flew across the driveway in an attempt to greet and clear the air with Draco. A failed attempt that had left her awkwardly standing there in a hot zone.

"Sorry," she muttered, unsure whether or not she was apologizing to her brother or to herself for being so impulsive.

She scampered towards the door, pulling it open as Harry walked through to dump his things in the hallway, his eyes clouded; the way they got whenever he was thinking just a little too hard. It made for a clumsy landing of his box.

When he turned to face her, mouth open and a question mark almost visible on his tongue, Hermione dodged a hefty bullet by quickly rushing to the car as if to help grab the last few college remnants. But that obviously wouldn't deter him. He was a Granger, whether or not it was by blood or simply by that fatal thing called association.

"So," a dangerous word to start a conversation with, Hermione concluded as she lifted a box of textbooks Harry hadn't had the common sense to sell back.

"Spit it out," she huffed as she hauled her load towards the door, an object that seemed to stretch farther and farther away the closer she thought she was to salvation. Harry trailed right next to her, barely struggling with his package: a big fat nothing. When she glanced back at the trunk, she noted, with growing aggravation, that there was plenty for him to pick up and bring in and keep himself occupied with.

"Since when have you talked to Cruella de Vilover there?"

She fought vigorously against the urge to drop the overbearing box she was carrying onto his unsuspecting toes.

"I was feeling neighborly today."

If the way he laughed was any indication, Harry was not buying what she was selling. Neither was he helping with what she was carrying.

" 'Mione, don't misunderstand but... You're sweet when you want to be but I just don't and can't picture you as 'neighborly'. And, especially, not to those people."

She was finally to the door and eyed it impatiently. Harry, being Harry, casually placed a hand against the door. Not against the doorknob but on the door itself, as if to lean on it. And Harry, being Harry, saw Hermione's face and did exactly that. His bodyweight against it and a box that probably was equivalent in weight to her brother, Hermione was not going to get through the door very easily -even if she dropped the box on him.

"What gives?" He persisted, even as she decided his feet were a perfect landing strip for his box of wasted books. Hermione got a satisfactory flinch out of him, even a hardly suppressed whine, but his body just seemed more cemented against the door.

"Would you please drop it?" She briskly asked, her hand turning the knob fruitlessly.

"Hilarious," he muttered as he heaved the box into his arms, finally, and scooted far enough from the door to let Hermione open it.

Inside, the both of them were relieved to feel the rush of cool air against their skins, though it didn't manage to whisk away the sweat from the outside summer heat. She had to remind herself that she still had to go to school every time she walked out and sensed, more than saw, her already temperamental hair flare as if she'd literally been set on fire. And, at that moment, she briefly wished she could truly and spontaneously burst into flames.

With the box placed atop the teetering mountain of everything else Harry would no longer need, thanks to his new college-less endeavors, her brother was more than eager to start up where she had left him waiting. That was, after checking to make sure their parents were not in earshot.

"Maybe I could understand talking to the mother, but Draco Malfoy?"

She'd been hoping he hadn't seen the first, failed, exchange. She grimaced, trying to figure out a reason why she would, indeed, be talking to that specific delinquent. Wanted help unpacking? Malfoy wouldn't do that even if they paid him. A school project? Malfoy didn't go to school. Community service? Don't make him laugh. The truth?

She didn't know the truth. Not from Draco's side, and without that her thoughts on the matter went blank. He was a boy who'd come through her window. Fact. They'd talked and kissed, on multiple occasions. Fact. He'd ignored her when the possibility of acknowledging her existence in public arose. Fact. They'd lived next door to each other for years, only really knew each other for a few days. Fact. So, what was the truth except a muddle of things that accumulated into a question mark?

If it didn't make sense to her, of all people, how was there any way she could make it clear to Harry? They were both almost equally unequipped to talk about relationships or the possibility, impossibility of one.

It was an overall impossible situation, at least in her mind. She couldn't fathom any way to even start articulating why she was talking to Draco Malfoy except that she just was. And admitting to her brother that she even thought of doing more than talking with the boy would raise the impossible idea of a relationship. And could someone really call their nightly escapades a relationship?

But Harry was waiting, still, and Hermione's mind was almost audibly processing what to say. And before she could fully compute and rehearse the words in her mind, her mouth was forming sounds that neither of them had the ears for.

"I'm trying to save him."

They say, sometimes, that clarity is found in moments of immense pressure. When put under a pressure range of forty-five to sixty kilobars, carbon clashes chaotically, reorganizes, and takes shape as one of the most desirable and clearest gems: the diamond. It takes a depth of around 200 kilometers to sustain that kind of pressure, but the hole Hermione had dug herself wasn't nearly as deep. Yet, it had managed to create a similar chemical reaction within her overstimulated mind.

Though clear, the result was not one of the most desirable outcomes.

The speed at which Harry lugged the deadweight that was Hermione up the stairs and into her room was probably how fast he should have been going when carrying just as equally heavy boxes out of their parents' car.

She barely got to acknowledge her surroundings before he dug into her.

"Aren't you the one I hear through the walls, complaining about novels that display girls trying to 'save' mental cases? About the girls in your classes fawning over boys who can't even spell their own names?"

"Draco knows how to spell his name," she muttered in lame reply.

"Hermione," Harry breathed, and she could see the bridge of his nose flare beneath his glasses, the ring of red blood cells clustering in a frenzy of anger just beneath his skin. "What are you thinking?"

She inhaled, hoping maybe she'd suck in an answer she could then breathe out to him.

"Look, it's different. Maybe, I don't know."

"Hermione, he doesn't even know you exist."

Her eyes snapped up, unsure whether the sudden flash of rage was from the momentary accuracy of that statement or from the fact that it was Harry, Harry of all people saying that.

"That didn't stop Ginny, now did it?"

He fidgeted with his glasses. "Okay, now _that_ was different." He had a slight blush to his cheeks and as Hermione remembered the last summer before Harry had left for college, she regretted comparing the two situations. Of course it was different, if only from the sheer fact that Harry had never teased Ginny in elementary school. And he'd never decided to be a petty thief. Or drop out of school. Or break into Ginny's house.

She was grasping at very thin straws but she, nonetheless, grasped at them.

"I understand where you might be coming from, I really do, Harry, but you don't know the particulars of my situation."

"That's exactly it, Hermione! I'm your brother, I should know the 'particulars'," he even went so far as to make air quotes, "of your situation, especially when it has to do with that twat. He bullied you in elementary school, didn't he?"

She stood her ground, even though the foundation was anything but stable.

"Yes, he did, and so the reason for wanting to save him," she explained, tagging on a hasty "among other reasons" when Harry's eyebrows shot up from the rim of his too well-seeing glasses.

Truthfully, it wasn't even on the list of reasons for her to 'save' Draco Malfoy. A list she really did have, though the ink of her thoughts were smeared so much so that she couldn't particularly make out the definite points on said list. She knew that it was there and that it was lengthy; an accumulation of years, brief moments of interaction or observation and even briefer moments of touch that had left her wanting to both save him and save herself from him. She was sure that amongst the more plausible reasons for wanting to help the wayward boy was a cluster of gibberish and yearning that mainly propelled her forward. It was irrational and that made it exciting to the girl who was still deciding whether her left or right side brain was more prevalent in her life. So far, she'd been able to suppress the strange desires that underwrote her actions around Draco Malfoy, overriding them with reason and strategy rather than impulse.

Yes, yes she wanted to save Draco Malfoy. She wanted to save him from himself, or at least the situation his character had placed him into, from the stealing and the catastrophic relationships he either formed or destroyed through his own impulses. She wanted to save him from a destiny he would surely fulfill, the jail cell door of opportunity swung wide before him. And beyond that door, once it closed, she knew he would be unreachable thereafter. She wanted to save him, she knew that much. But she feared that she wanted to save him for herself, leaving her intentions dominantly selfish. And this is why she decided that Harry could only hear the most uninfluential reason for why she was reaching out to a hand that had just formally rejected hers.

If he knew that the strongest reason for doing so was just to feel the roughness of Draco's skin against hers, her brother would take over her usual role of the rational sibling. And her pride was still too alive to let him do that. That didn't mean, however, that he wouldn't try to do it anyways.

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't want saving. I mean, have you seen him lately?"

She tried not to laugh, give away the reality that, yes, she had seen him and frequently before Harry had moved back in. Definitely more so than Harry had seen Draco in the past year.

"Today, he was in a mood. I've talked to him before now, and he sounds up to getting help," she coolly replied. Though, the second that rational came out of her mouth and she heard it rather than thought it, it didn't sound very honest. Draco hadn't been looking for help, aside from a getaway from the police that first night, when he came through her window. He'd never dropped any hints that would steer her to that conclusion. She'd been helping herself to that conclusion, by making him promise not to do this or that. But, he hadn't protested. So, was he okay with it?

She frowned, and Harry spotted it immediately.

"You're not sure about that at all, are you?" There was a hint of a victory smile on his face.

"So what if I wasn't," she snapped and the smile was gone.

"Hermione," he eased back into the conversation after a pause in which she retracted her claws. "I'm just trying to keep you from getting hurt."

She rolled her eyes, turned them to the window and almost wished Draco would appear there once more. This time, maybe, she'd let him in if only to shock Harry into silence.

Unfortunately, the view was clear through the glass.

Hermione looked back at her brother, his features and eyes a picture of complete concern for his young sister. It didn't matter that only a small while ago the roles were reversed.

"I know you are, Harry, and I love you for it but I'm not five anymore. If I do get hurt, it's my wound to bandage and heal- not yours. And, honestly," she took her brother's hands in hers, noted how big they'd gotten, "you have enough problems."

What had been an almost embarrassingly gentle expression dropped into an actually embarrassed gawk on her brother's face. She patted his hands before dismissing them, and him, as kindly as she could.

He leaned back, looked from the ceiling to Hermione and back again. He nodded, his chin jutting out indignantly.

"Last time I'll ever try to help you out," he heaved, but there was the subtle hint of amusement in his voice. It definitely wasn't the last time he'd help her out. It had been wired into both of their genetic codes from the moment they'd met that they were in this together, no matter how much one taunted the other. They were siblings, after all.

"Do you want an update on Ginny, or would you rather go sulk in your room now that I've brought her up?" Hermione dug further, if only to get Harry out of her room faster. The sun was starting to tilt in the sky, nudging an ill-thought plan forward in her mind that could not proceed until she was surely and safely alone.

Harry grimaced, his hand moving for her doorknob.

"I think I'll leave that for another of our therapy sessions, thank you," he shot back before leaving her to make her own wounds.

The first one would make its appearance as she tried to climb out her window and pressed her palm too firmly against a jagged edge of a shingle.

She had waited until night had completely fallen to make her pitiful escape, filling the two or so hours before it with homework-doing. The attempt to do any kind of schoolwork was utterly unfocused as her brain returned more and more to what she was going to do once the streets below died down from their coming-back-from-work traffic. So much so that she ended up shoving her textbooks away and mindlessly exploring the internet- past the usual academic sites she used for school. It left her brain endless room to wander as well, letting her think hard on how exactly she was going to speak to Draco.

With the moon out for its nightly rounds, Hermione somehow found herself on the small slice of roof outside her window, her feet and determination aimed at the house beside hers and, in particular, the bedroom that was dimly lit across the way.

The air was stagnant, letting the heat rest claustrophobically against her tank top, skin, already overheated brain. As she peered over the side of her roof and mentally measured the distance between it and Draco's roof, she remembered one of the sites she'd managed to wander onto:

1000 Ways to Die.

It was a deviation of Wikipedia, a naturally questionable source. But, for Hermione, at that very moment, it seemed an extremely reliable reference for an essay on why she should not, not jump across. She even thought of going back to her room and writing that said essay but, instead, she felt herself inch closer and closer to the edge of her own rooftop.

A strange part of her she hadn't truly explored, not until that night when a boy had breached that invisible line between houses and lives, wanted nothing more than to jump. And yet, a larger sum of her was tethered to the room behind her, straining against the window and trying futilely to tug her body back. It wasn't a particular fear of heights or of jumping that resulted in this gut-wrenching tug-of-war and even the combination of the two only solicited in her the socially accepted, and almost humanly required, fear.

If Hermione was being honest with herself, as she'd been forced to be so far, the fear that wrapped around her chest and tried so hard to pull her from the edge, was of landing. The adrenaline she felt right now, pumping loud and fast, would prevail through the air with her but soon leave once her feet were firmly planted on roof again. Anything that happened after her body made that leap would not be completely under her control. She would be on Malfoy territory, a place she'd never thought to go to, and never after being completely ignored by the room's occupant. At least when in her room, he would come and she would be given the chance to let him in or shut him out. She had full power over what happened when he visited her, but now the situation would be flipped on its head. Who was to say he wouldn't completely ignore her yet again?

She forced that fear of the unknown and of rejection from around her. Her feet were too impatient to make the jump to care much anymore for what would happen next.

Locking in on the other roof's edge, Hermione pushed herself off and into the air. It was brief. It was exhilarating. The landing, itself, loud.

Her hands gripped at the roof tiles along with her shoes, and she flinched against the sound of her own touchdown. The light in the room directly in front of her intensified, another lamp turned on to see outside.

She really hoped it was the right window.

Quickly, she scrambled up and to the glass, spotting a short crop of blonde inside as confirmation that it was, indeed, the right window.

On the other side of the glass, Draco Malfoy heard a relentless tapping of knuckle against his windowpane. He'd heard the thud of a body outside, had tried to ignore it but obviously wasn't about to get his way. Draco was starting to understand that when it came to Hermione Granger, who he could only assume to be the owner of the bushy head outside his window, he was not ever likely to get his way. Perhaps, if it had been any other day, at any other time, he would have smiled at that reality. But, today, he felt detached from any emotional display.

The racket continued clear and loud. I know you're in there, it said. I know you hear me, it insisted. Then the groan of his locked window as someone tried futilely to open it said: I'm not going away so easily. He wouldn't put it past the crazed woman to yank the window open out of sheer will power. So, he got up from the comfort of his bed, placing down a book he wasn't actually reading, and flipped the miniscule handle that kept her out of his life.

She immediately seeped into the room, his life, his skin.

"I would like to point out the irony of your window being locked," she huffed as she straightened out her pajama shorts, and he tried hard not to acknowledge the strange jealousy he felt towards her hand as it brushed against her thigh. He tried just as equally not to remember the surge of, much stronger, jealousy that bludgeoned him that morning when he saw a man that wasn't him in her room. Or when that same feeling resurfaced as she was joined once more by that man outside her house only hours later.

He wasn't trying hard enough.

"Almost as funny as going to yours and not only getting locked out, but completely replaced." He was turning from her, his eyes fixed on his wall, the bed, the chair he finally sat down on with a faked air of coolness.

With his back turned, he couldn't see the confusion that swept over Hermione's features. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, arms and fidgeting hands unsure where to go when nothing there was hers. When he did finally sneak a glance at her, she had licked her lips, was shaking her head, and the light played off the thin layer of saliva. He looked back at his desk, the one he barely ever sat at but supplied him with an array of things to occupy himself with.

"That was my brother," she finally formulated, taken aback by the assumption that Harry was anything but that. She shook her head again, shaking with it the shock of Draco's unreasonable jealousy. "But, that aside, I came to apologize for keeping you out. I just didn't-"

"Want to be seen with me?" He supplied and finally their eyes met; his unmoving, unreadable, hers chaotic and confused. But slowly, as the seconds of silence stretched on, they met in the middle as the truth was shaken out of her pupils like an answer in a magic eight ball: yes.

With a small flicker of hurt, Draco's already frigid blue eyes turned to stone and left Hermione's troubled brown irises in the cold.

He didn't need this right now, had tried blatantly to keep his troubles with her at bay until he could understand the muddle of sensations boiling together in his gut. The meeting with his father had put him off kilter and the feeling of being suspended in midair was frightening. Hermione's questionable relationship with him only pulled him higher into the atmosphere and threatened, with the strain of their ties, to drop him.

"That's alright, it's been fun," Draco shot snidely, making it his hint for her to leave before he slipped, said something he really shouldn't.

"No, it's not like that, Draco," she heaved, somehow out of breath even though the jump to his window hadn't left her winded. Her brain was racking at words, having a hard time formulating a correct and adequate sentence. She wasn't used to being speechless, to having to do this.

"Then, what is it like?" He bit out, tried not to look bothered by how crestfallen her face became.

She breathed in deeply, composed herself as she would if she were about to make a presentation in class. "This isn't just for fun, at least not for me. Which is why I didn't want you to meet my brother, or the rest of my family in just any way- and especially not by seeing you sneak into my room."

"Then how?"

Her eyes squinted in that ever reoccurring confusion. "How what?"

He smiled, though the edges of it were sharp, disdainful. He was looking away again, wishing that when she wasn't in sight she wasn't in mind or feeling. He could still sense her, as if her presence screamed at him.

"How would I meet them, ideally? For dinner?"

She was unsettled by the small fit of laughter that followed his question. "Well, yes. It would be nice for them to meet you that way. They could get to know you."

"To really know me?" He asked, twiddling with a pencil between his fingers, weaving it in and out. "And to know how we met?"

She fumbled. He could hear her sigh in agitation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her arms raise. She had them crossed, a barrier against his sly attacks. "Maybe not at first, but yes they would get to know the real you."

"Burglar and all?" He was skeptical and it showed in the angle of his brows, the spiteful curve of his lips. Her own lips were pursed.

"That's not the real you, and you know it. It's what you do or, rather, did."

Now, his eyebrows shot up in disbelief, challenging her though the rest of his body was lax in his seat. "Who are you to decide who the real me is? I think I know myself pretty well. I'm a thug, have been, will be. In this hypothetical scenario in which I meet your parents, am I in jeans and a t-shirt or a suit and tie like a proper gentleman?"

Her eyes narrowed, as if she were trying to see past his expressions. "What is your problem?" She finally let out, now feeling completely winded by the questions and assumptions he threw at her. They weren't all particularly wrong, but they sounded gross and unjust coming from him. Was it so wrong for her to want her parents to like him and, to ensure that they would, to present him in his better light?

_I'm trying to save him._

Or was she trying to fix him? Were they the same thing at this point?

"The one with the problem is you, Granger. You have a problem with what I do, and that means you have a problem with me. But that doesn't mean I am a problem for you to fix, got it?" He jabbed, his accusations hitting home.

"I didn't come here to fight, I just wanted," she tried to backtrack, breathing in to keep her temper where he obviously was not, though his exterior was cold and smooth. He wasn't going to let her finish backpedaling, though.

"I know what you wanted. I know what you want. You want me to change, to do it because you want me to."

"That's not it!" Her arms flew out with her exasperation.

"No?" He stood up, his exterior cracking after being tapped at too adamantly. It was like talking to his father in a more attractive bodysuit. "So you wouldn't like it if I stopped stealing, stopped getting in trouble with the police?"

"No, of course I'd like it if you did but not because-"

He inched closer. She was too, thinking maybe they would inch closer to agreement.

"You'd like it if I went back to school, wouldn't you? That I would go back, get educated so you could introduce me to the folks without feeling embarrassed?"

"That's not it," she insisted, her cheeks flaring hot like they always did when she felt flustered, angry, aroused. He'd only seen them grow red a few times in the past few days, and yet he could tell with confidence which of the three made her burn now.

"But you'd like that, wouldn't you? Somehow, you'd work your magic on me and I'd become a real boy that you could take home to mom and dad, maybe even bring with you to Harvard!" He ridiculed her, made her angrier, hotter, fiercer.

"Don't push your own insecurities on me, don't you dare. I'm not pushing you to do any of these things."

She was close enough to touch and he could feel the heat radiating off of her like a furnace on overdrive. Scattered parts of him wanted to reach through that small distance between them and soothe her with his cool touch, but those parts were echoes against a much more organized part of him that wanted her to feel worse than him.

"But you expect these things from me."

She looked incensed but, more so, tired as she put her arms out in surrender. "Is that a crime?"

He laughed, dry and harsh. "I'm not gonna change overnight for you! There's no chance in hell, with so little you put out."

God, he didn't mean it. He didn't mean it, didn't mean to make her so shocked and so vulnerable and so angry. She was a wildfire and he was fueling and dowsing the flames all at the same time.

"What the hell, Draco!"

He wondered if his mom could hear this, if he could add this onto the list of reasons why Narcissa Malfoy was disappointed in her son.

But the spout was turned and he continued to let things spew from his mouth. "What? It really wasn't 'just for fun'? Because, you were really going to continue to let me see you once you got accepted into a college, once you left your summer fling behind?"

Her bottom jaw became unhinged, her mouth hanging open in horror and disgust.

"Is that seriously your mentality?"

"I'm just trying to get the most out of what little there is here, figured that banging the prude next door would be a fun story to tell the guys."

The slap was an expected response, the burn of it welcomed on his skin where it lingered long after she would leave. But the look on her face when he opened his eyes after impact would stay with him even longer, the utter density of defiance, rage, and barely contained hurt overwhelming in her expression. So much so she didn't need to speak, probably didn't even want to verbalize a thing.

She left without a word as she slipped through his window, leaving it open and the room grotesquely hollow.


	6. Chapter 6

[Heeeey there, soooo. It is getting rough here on the school end of things so updates are going to be a bit random. I'm really trying to get it out every other week but papers and exams are swiftly coming up to hit me in the rear so I apologize a million times over if the updates start to seriously lag. On the plus side, only a few more chapters to go (about five-six-ish. Maybe…)! Thanks for hanging on as long as you guys have. :) As always, the more reviews the better!]

As soon as she leapt back onto her territory, Hermione had made the clear decision to leave any and all emotion on Draco Malfoy's windowsill. After a moment's paralysis in which she sat in the middle of her bed, legs folded beneath her and a book blurred beyond recognition in front of her, Hermione was back to normal. She threw herself into schoolwork diligently, passionately, catching up and speeding past the week's curriculum and then some. It was back to the everyday pace, uninterrupted by knocks on windows or ringing in her ears.

Even the rest of her family was back in sync. Her brother was enrolled in the police academy, her parents only murmuring the few obligatory objections against his current career interest, barely making any protest when he left the house in the white and black uniform. They ate dinner together every night, Harry either praising or complaining about the way things in the academy were run but mostly adopting an almost worship-like admiration of his instructor, Officer Lupin, who he talked of frequently. So much so that their parents figured it was about time this man came over for dinner.

Hermione didn't even flinch at the prospect of inviting someone for dinner that wasn't a particular blonde.

Officer Lupin was, in fact, very much of the brown haired, and somewhat shy, variety. Or so was the case when he came over to the Granger house with his wife, a lively woman whose name brought to life mythologies Hermione read about constantly: Nymphadora.

"Jus' call me Tonks," she'd said with a wink, wiggling a smile from Hermione as she ushered the two guests towards the dining room. All the while, Hermione's eyes were glued to the bright purple pixie cut Tonks wore proudly on her head. She popped out of a comic book, a strange creature holding hands with a rather calm, picture-normal human man. When she tried to compare the wife to the husband, Hermione's brain nearly collapsed on itself. Her parents seemed to be doing the exact same thing, though Harry was completely at leisure when he spoke to the yin-yang Lupins.

It was the lighthearted banter of old friends, the kind that Hermione and her parents had a hard time keeping up with but enjoyed nonetheless. Though, deep down, there was an insistent pang in the back of her heart when she watched their attachment from across the table. Even though there was at least twenty years between them, thirteen years if Harry was talking with Tonks, the connection was solid.

But at least they tried, on multiple occasions, to bring the three other Grangers into the conversation.

"So, I've heard so much about you from Harry that I feel like I know you," Officer Lupin reached out to Hermione from across the way. He was sitting between a lightly arguing Harry and Tonks and, obviously, trying to stay out of it. When Hermione glanced at her parents, she saw that they were locked in quiet chatter, but she would give Lupin credit for attempting to talk to her.

"I could say the same about you, Officer Lupin." She smiled, and he returned it with his own warm grin.

"Please, Remus," he said, still smiling. "I hear you're going to college in a year?"

Hermione's stomach churned, twirling her fork around her plate, but she nodded. "Yup, that's the plan- same college as Harry, probably. Though, I don't think you'll be seeing me at that academy after a year of college."

Remus laughed a hearty laugh, a real one, not the kind guests sometimes did for the sake of a host. It made Hermione warm up to him even more. "I'd hope not. You don't seem like an officer to me."

She swallowed. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Coming from him, it had to be sincere. But he didn't know her as well as he thought he did.

"I dare you-"

"I'll do it!"

"Then do it," Tonks was challenging Harry. Suddenly, he was stuffing food into his mouth. Hermione's eyebrows rose. Remus seemed to already know what was going on and sighed.

"Guess how I heard about Remus and Tonks," Harry said around a mouthful of chicken pot pie. Hermione pursed her lips against a grin as their mother tried, and failed, to glare at her improper son without the guests noticing. Though Tonks' eyes were examining her food, she was grinning from ear to ear. Remus nudged her, probably in warning, but it only coerced the restrained laugh out of her.

"How?" Hermione finally prodded between the scrapings of forks against plates.

"In class. They were talking about inappropriate conduct while on the job and Remus was put on the spot. Apparently, Tonks was holding a protest outside one of the corporate offices downtown and he was called in to help clear the area and-"

"-as I was putting handcuffs on her, for stomping on one of my colleagues' feet, she asked me out on a date," Remus supplied with a quaint smile.

The wide-eyed responses from both Hermione and her mom made Tonks laugh even more. She was alight with the memory of their first meeting, her face pink with excitement at getting to recall it to people she barely knew. "Remus had just gotten the job at the precinct, too. He was such a goody two-shoes that he immediately shot me down… only to bail me out later that night to go to a local bar."

"Little did he know she was only sixteen," Harry added on. "She had a fake I.D and everything."

"Oh my god," Hermione blurted out. She watched Remus nod in embarrassment, but the tilt of his lips spoke of a secret relishing. She knew the feeling, wouldn't admit to it but she knew it. It made no sense to her, and at some point it probably hadn't made any sense to him either. What was so good about feeling attracted to trouble when her mind knew, without a doubt, that the road she was on didn't allow for those kinds of deviations?

But Nymphadora and Remus were something different.

Hermione caught Remus's eye and a flash of embarrassment flooded her at witnessing the tenderness he held in there. It was reserved for the woman whose hand he held so tightly he'd adopted it as an anchor, even though their past was founded on unstable ground.

"What do you know about the Malfoys?"

For a moment, Hermione wondered where the question had come from. She looked at the faces at the table and was instantly unnerved by the amount of eyes on her. Then it clicked. She'd asked it. And she felt the blood rush to her face as she looked down at her plate, noticing then that she'd barely touched her food.

"I mean, you've been in the precinct for so long, Officer Lupin, and we sometimes see the police next door. Kind of makes a girl curious," she ranted, trying to reassemble her dignity as she was trying to disassemble her pie. When she chanced a glance up, Tonks was frowning down at her own plate. Both Remus and Harry shared a knowing look and Hermione's face flared up hot.

"Had we known about them when we moved in, I think we would've picked another neighborhood," her father tagged in, trying to fill the suddenly awkward silence as he twiddled a butter knife between his fingers the way he did when he felt uncomfortable.

"They're not all bad," Tonks suddenly interjected sharply before Hermione's mom could pile on her own list of complaints that had been slowly growing from years of neighborly neglect. When Tonks looked up to the rest of the table, a strange expression passed over her face. She'd smiled, but the angle reminded Hermione of someone else. It made her stomach coil in on itself.

"The Malfoy name isn't a favorite of mines either but not everyone associated with it is a sour apple."

Hermione was finding that hard to believe.

"I meant to tell you, actually," Harry nervously laughed, staring intently at Hermione as if he'd meant to tell her specifically. There was an apology there in the green of his eyes. "Tonks' aunt is Narcissa Malfoy."

There was the implied "Draco's her cousin" somewhere in there. She couldn't stand the look Harry was giving her and so, she studied the shape of her fork.

"Oh," was all Hermione could manage to say. She felt the little nibbles of pie she had digested crawl up her throat. "Sorry."

"It's alright," she heard someone reassure her. Peering up, Hermione saw Tonks smiling gently. "You didn't know. Besides, if you'd asked me when I was a teenager how I felt about them, I'd probably say I hate them. But I don't, not really. Just Narcissa and my mom had a bit of a falling out when I was young. They're going through hard times right now, so I can't be too hard on my family."

"You mean Lucius Malfoy going to jail?"

Tonks scowled. "Yeah, bastard got their house foreclosed." Her mouth opened in an inaudible "oh" when Hermione's mom sucked in a breath. "Sorry, language isn't a strong point of mine."

All the men at the table were suppressing smiles. Hermione was still trying to digest Tonks' news.

"Wait, that house is in foreclosure?" She heard herself say.

The carefree purple hair didn't seem to match the severe eyes that held Hermione's. Hermione's entire body felt cemented into place. "Yeah, so you won't be worrying about them for long."

* * *

School was a hefty distraction, attraction, the next day. There was still the circulating gossip that the popular Harry Granger was back in town, training to become a police officer. Many of the girls who had fawned over her brother, _yikes_, continued their gossiping as if he'd never graduated. Was he going to be a security officer at the school? Would the uniform be tight enough? Would he perform a police "search and strip" tease if coerced enough?

"Can I dunk their heads in the toilet?" Ginny asked at some point between Hermione's readings of e.e. cummings and imaginary numbers. They were lingering outside on one of the many patio tables that tried, in vain, to lure students into studying on them. Mainly, it was Hermione and a very resistant Ginny who sat on said tables. Today, they sat there during their free, and last, period. Despite Ginny's persistent pleading, Hermione refused to ever skip out and go home early. And since Hermione had become Ginny's ride home ever since Ron and Harry graduated, the redhead was imprisoned on school grounds.

The torture she was going through today, more so than any other day, was enough to make Hermione a little bit sympathetic – especially after the personal hell she'd gone through the other night. Still, she would take immature teens over an awkward dinner any day.

"Can I?" Ginny continued to ask, her plight becoming desperate, though it only made Hermione smile.

There was a thump as Hermione closed her calculus textbook, biting back a smile.

"No, Ginny, you cannot." As if that would actually stop her best friend from trying to drown the pests she had termed "Granger Groupies". They were a group that had formed the day her brother grew into his gangly legs second year and had evolved into a fan base that would not die, despite Harry graduating and moving away. Ginny had hoped, as had Hermione, that the squealing would dwindle off with maturity but, well, that just wasn't the case.

Ginny's ginger hair seemed to grow brighter with the heat that was rapidly consuming her face the more and more she looked at the slew of girls who giggled beneath a nearby tree, every once and a while looking over at the two of them. Ginny had assured Hermione that they were just dying to ask Hermione if they could come over to her house to "you know what".

Hermione didn't want to know what.

Her friend howled into the wooden table, her hair a bonfire consuming the planks. When she came up for air, it was to glare at Hermione for finally, finally letting out a laugh.

"Don't act like I'm being unreasonable. I mean, don't you want to? That is _your _brother they're drooling over."

Hermione grimaced. "Yeah, he's my brother and I'm grossed out but I'm not raging or contemplating murder."

Ginny sighed haggardly, sitting up and clawing roughly through her hair to make it less of a frenzy. For once, if she wanted to, Hermione could easily make fun of Ginny's otherwise flawless styling. But something told her (was it the flushed cheeks or the homicidal flash in her eyes?) not to test her luck by making a comment.

"Okay, whatever. But, haven't you ever felt jealous?"

Ginny was grasping at straws, and Hermione could see the urgency in her friend's eyes. She wasn't used to being this rattled, Hermione knew as much. Silently, her empathy soared and she wanted to comfort her.

But she still had to tread lightly, since Ginny wasn't supposed to know how close Hermione was to the same emotional cliff.

"No, not really," she muttered in reply, focusing on putting her things back into her backpack. "Who would I have to feel jealous over?"

Ginny's green eyes squinted at her, her head cocked to the side when Hermione finally looked up. Hermione swallowed.

"Ron?" She ventured to suggest, incredulously. "I figured, when Lavender was all over him, you felt at least a little bit of a tug."

Hermione let out a mental sigh of relief. _Right, him_. She shrugged.

"I guess not. Is that a bad thing? I thought I really liked him," she replied, a slight frown on her face. Was she somewhat emotionally handicapped? That would definitely explain the last few days, weeks.

Ginny made a face.

Apparently, Hermione was handicapped. She made a face back, feeling nervous. "What?"

Ginny shook her head, waving a slender hand in the air in dismissal. "Sorry, just thinking about how annoying Ron was about you and other boys."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It wasn't as if _Ginny_ came to complain to Hermione about Ron coming to _her_ to complain about Hermione. It was a vicious, ludicrous, confusing cycle of immaturity that had very much consumed her second and third year. She thought it had ended when the relationship had but apparently, Ginny was the real grudge holder in the Weasley family.

"But nah, I guess it isn't. I just," Ginny grimaced, her face slowly returning to its normal, calm complexion, "it's not even that I'm jealous of them. I just wish I could even think the way they do, as if it was even a possibility. Or maybe I'm jealous of their ignorance."

Ginny was avoiding Hermione's watchful eye, her face turned into her shoulder the way she did when she was fighting against floodgates. Hermione's throat clenched and, for a brief moment, she did feel a flash of rage. But it was aimed more so at her brother and her friend than at any of the fangirls.

"He still loves you, you know," Hermione tried to reassure a broken, stubborn heart that so frequently reminded her of Harry.

Another sigh. Ginny's face resurfaced from her shoulder- eyes dry.

"Yeah, I know," she stated so matter-of-factly. A spurt of laughter from the nearby tree turned her gaze icy. Her eyes hardened into determination. "But until he's able to say those words, to me, and make that commitment, I can't think of him that way."

A brief glimpse of hurt in Ginny's eyes explained why she couldn't. And it felt like Hermione was looking into a mirror.

She cleared her throat, her fingers tightening around her backpack.

"Hey, how about we ditch? I'll go get the car started up if you'll grab my stuff from my locker," Hermione blurted out, already getting up from the table. Ginny didn't have enough time to question Hermione's sudden change of subject, too excited was she with the prospect of getting the hell out of school even if it was only ten minutes before the bell.

"I'm on it," Ginny beamed, her body sprinting to the school doors. Alone, Hermione let out a huff before scurrying her way to the parking lot- where she almost did a complete U-turn. But her legs, despite the warning lights flashing behind her eyes, continued to propel her further and further into the parking lot.

Across the street, in the park she should've expected, grey eyes pierced and latched onto her. Maybe they were the force yanking her forward, but her mind was reeling her back in as quickly as possible. She registered the tall blonde, leaning against an empty jungle gym set, and finally her body began to steer her in the right direction: towards her car. She could feel eyes following her, as her hands snatched up her keys and diligently opened her door.

She didn't, however, hear him approach.

"Nice uniform though, in my fantasies, you're wearing a skirt- not trousers," a heated voice mocked from behind. The teasing felt forced, the edges of his words tattered by nerves and dabbed in hints of desperation. He wasn't coming off as suave as he wanted to. Maybe she wouldn't notice.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the red that was painting her perception, but the loud color chased her behind sealed eyelids. She was trying, hard, not to be angry. She heard Tonks' words in her ears, blaring in her mind, but they only seemed to make the red rage grow hotter. And her inability to stay calm only fueled her frustrations.

Every time he came near her, it was like she was a bomb and he had a lit match, ready to set her off.

"Malfoy, go away."

_7 19 8 31_, the numbers Ginny needed to remember to get Hermione's things out of the locker and get to the car before she drove a key through someone's throat. It couldn't be that hard for Ginny, only the order could make her mess up a few times but she should've gotten it by now! If she was really Hermione's best friend, she'd figure out the damn code. But she was probably still contemplating, somewhere in those forsaken halls, about teasing her ex's groupies.

Hermione considered simply abandoning Ginny. She'd forgive Hermione eventually.

There was a nervous energy behind her, spreading and threatening to engulf her. It refused to go away even as she swung around the car door and hovered behind it, shielding herself from the source of all her issues.

Up close, Hermione could see dark craters under Draco's eyes. They hollowed out his attempt at a smile. His lips were fighting too hard against the rest of his face and his shoulders, slouched, seemed to push every heightened expression down. His hands were shoved in his jeans, though his scabbed knuckles peered over the ridge of his pockets. Even his clothes looked like they needed a day's rest. Was it even possible for someone to look that worn down so fast?

She thought back to how many days had passed since she'd last seen him. It couldn't have been more than a week. She felt lost, maybe it had been longer. And swiftly a wave of concern came over her, like it had that morning when she'd gotten into her car and seen the house next door, imagining it vacant, a "For Sale" sign where a family had been. She'd sat in her car, wondering whether or not the new neighbors would leave their windows open or lock them tight. She wondered if she'd lock her own.

And yet, the moment he opened his mouth, her eyes reverted back to her car, the keys in her hand, to the task she'd given herself the moment she'd left his window. Her mind and concern were shut to him. No exceptions.

Draco heard her window close with a loud slap. But he would pry at it, because he knew he could.

"Hermione, let me talk. I just want to talk."

She pursed her lips, eyes scanning the front lawn for her friend and seeing nothing but time slipping away. "You really have more to say?"

From the safety of her peripheral vision, she saw Draco shuffle his feet. She noticed that he was trying to shuffle closer to her. She pulled the door closer to her body, but it was a futile attempt. He got under her skin either way.

"Look, the other night I didn't say what I meant to say. I wanted to say-" Her eyes shot up, shut him down. He had a hand raised, like he was making to touch her in some way, but his fingers clenched inward, as if to hold onto the words she refused to let him say. There was an apology there between them but she'd be damn'd if he was allowed to say anything to her.

"I know exactly what you want to say, but you don't get to say it. I'll say it for you, instead," Hermione jeered, unable to control the motors running her mouth. "Congratulations to you. You came to gloat right?"

His mouth shut, opened. "Hermione-"

"Don't need to. But good on you. You did it, it took you a few years, but you did it. You managed to turn into a complete scumbag. You know, I could have been okay with it if you'd just blatantly been going after me for sex but no, no. You knew that wouldn't be enough. And shame, shame on me for not seeing through that obvious plotline. I cannot believe you almost wooed the pants off of me. You would think I'd read about it enough, heard about it enough, and that I'd know better. But you got me, you really succeeded in outsmarting me. Be ecstatic, Malfoy. You did your father proud."

Whatever warmth he'd reserved for this conversation boiled over and his otherwise pale cheeks flared red. He seemed to grow taller but really, he'd managed to get closer to her, his breath falling on her and confusing her the way she didn't want to get confused.

He was torn between wanting to rip her head off and wanting to pull it close. Somewhere he knew that she was saying this as a defense against him, just like the night they'd first, officially, met but the second the f-bomb fell, he'd lost sight of why he came over to her in the first place.

"Don't you ever put words in my mouth, Granger."

"Pretty sure I just pried them out," she spat, the air between them heated.

"You think you know everything about me, don't you?"

Hermione knew she was going to regret what she said, but the motor was running and there were no breaks. "Yup, I do. Matter of fact, I know you're finally getting kicked out of your house and home- though, word on the street is you barely go home anymore so who cares, right?"

Draco was physically taken aback. He leaned away from her as if she'd spat at him, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"Who told you?"

Hermione's glare eased, her face falling with exhaustion. "The real question is why didn't you tell me?"

His jaw locked and then both of their windows were shut to one another. She couldn't see into his emotions, nor him into hers as she hardened in return. The both of them engaged in a battle of will and heated frustration. And then, there was a snap in the atmosphere. They both heard feet, separate pairs of feet of equal importance to them. Hermione turned to see Ginny racing like a bat out of hell, an accurate depiction of the school, towards her. Draco turned to catch the eye of another teenage boy, huddled in the park he'd just abandoned, with equally scabbed knuckles. When he glanced back at Hermione, she was staring at him, marking him up, challenging him still.

"Run along, then," she shot.

He shook his head, shaking off the excess frustration she brought up in him, and rushed off to his side of the street.

She'd seen the other boy, knew he was a street thug, knew what it meant when Draco ditched her and avoided her questions, her hidden want to know more about him. Suddenly, she felt a twisting of anger and hurt within her ribcage. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be jealous. She hated it.

"What's with the gangster wannabes?" Ginny remarked, her face scrunched in disgust as she followed Hermione's stare.

Hermione shrugged, bottling everything up for another time, trying to fight back her own floodgates.

"Nothing, come on. Let's go," she mumbled, flinging herself into the car and shutting the door behind her. Even though she automatically locked the car when Ginny hopped in, she didn't feel safe. Her friend was still glancing over at the two boys who were looking over every now and then, words swapping between the two.

"Isn't that Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione hit down, hard, on the gas.

They were halfway across town, almost to Ginny's house, when someone finally spoke up.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her vision only slightly blurred. She was perfectly fine and she told Ginny exactly that.

"Are you hearing yourself? Hermione, pull over."

She did exactly that.

"Okay, Hermione. Hey, look at me." She did. She saw a red blur. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," she heard herself say or, rather heave. She really didn't know. And it was fueling her tears. "I'm angry, I think I'm angry but I don't know anymore. I don't know."

And the floodgates completely collapsed. She was tired of not knowing, of being left in the dark without a single light to help her along. She was fumbling for answers no one was willing to give her, not even her mind. And Ginny, though she knew Hermione more than most people, couldn't give her a single answer either.

She pulled Hermione into a hug, struggling against the strain of seatbelts to reach a friend. Hermione sobbed muffled questions into Ginny's shoulder, knowing full well the only person who could help her answer them refused to talk to her. And when he had been willing, she'd shut him out.

She'd shut him out and, in the process, shut herself out. And now she was stuck with her foot on the brakes, confused and scared witless.


	7. Chapter 7

[A/N: Hello everyone! So glad I was able to keep to a schedule (kind of) with this. Thanks for all the reviews so far, it's been a blast writing this and reading what you all think about it thus far! Keep the reviews coming. :)]

"What was that all about?"

Draco tried to ignore the question, shrugging in meager reply because words were still somewhere between his brain and his mouth. He could taste "coward" on his tongue but he'd be damned twice over if he let that word get out. But, it was true. Draco Malfoy was a coward, fleeing at the first signs of confrontation about his choices. He was glad for an excuse to scram, to leave Hermione's accusations in midair like debris after an explosion while he escaped to get fresh air, to find somewhere that wasn't falling down around him. He figured if he left her there, it would be as if the chaos was paused until he could gather his wits about him and finally provide an answer that wouldn't crumble under scrutiny. And the boy before him was a good enough reason, excuse, to put Hermione on the sidelines and ignore the fact that she was beyond through with him- like almost everyone else was.

Slouching against a tree, with a silver watch poking out from beneath the sleeve of a black suede jacket that betrayed his status, was Blaise Zabini. Well and ill-known within the small community, Draco's one-time school mate had an itch for risk much like Draco's own itch for self-destruction. Blaise was no longer the young boy that tagged onto Draco in elementary and middle school; a mate whose ideas of fun were limited to teasing and roughing up smaller kids. Nowadays, fun consisted of teasing open car doors and roughing up indebted men. But unlike Draco, who had convinced himself he needed to do these things, Blaise came from a stable household. They grew up in rich families, had gone to each other's summer homes until the Malfoy name became less preferable to be affiliated with. The Zabinis, if you disregarded the blatant dismissal of friends when they no longer seemed like a beneficial relationship, were a solid family unit. Blaise didn't have real motive to be a troubled child besides a need for attention and something to do. Yet, despite their similar hobbies, Blaise always had his nose aimed at the sky and eyes cast down in barely subdued distaste when he talked with his former playmate.

So, when Blaise eyed Hermione Granger and his usual apathetic, boarding on bored expression evolved into one of curiosity and followed up his previous question with, "and who is she?" Draco wanted nothing more than to pummel his skull into the tree. But, instead, he followed Blaise's interested gaze and watched as Hermione and her many questions filed into her car and drove off. Seeing her go should have relieved him, both of having to figure out answers and having to dissuade Blaise from asking any more questions, but it didn't. He felt his insides being pulled along, tied to the motor of her car and roaring in pain as she veered off. Somewhere, in the pit that was left where his stomach had deserted him, Draco knew that he wouldn't be seeing her for a while. He knew that the conversation he'd envisioned in his head when he'd walked up to her was probably never going to happen. Whatever apologies he had rehearsed and excuses he wanted to give were infinitely on pause.

_Maybe that's a good thing_.

He gave another shrug when he realized Blaise was still waiting for a response, probably thinking Draco was daft all the while he'd been staring after a hopeless future.

"She's not worth the trouble."

Blaise's eyes narrowed, a glint in them and a sneer on his face. "That's just more fun."

Draco looked up at Blaise, their eyes locked in a silent measuring of one another. Inside, Draco was brewing poison, wished he could spit it on the boy's face and watch him double-back and see that grin on his face burn into agony.

He managed to smile. "Your funeral. Heard her brother's a cop, real tight with the sheriff and deputy."

His opponent scoffed, pushed his body off the tree and pressed closer into Draco's space. "Then why the hell were you all over her?" He shot back. Draco felt a knot clog up his throat, a security measure to keep himself from blurting the raging "I don't know!" that he'd kept within him ever since he'd first kissed Hermione Granger. He had no idea why he kept trailing after her, a tail strapped to a comet that's sole mission was to burn him out. He didn't know why he felt pulled by her and why he couldn't just detach himself as he'd always done with other problematic relationships. If he was able to become apathetic to his own father, why couldn't he do it when it came to some frizzy-haired girl?

He was afraid that, if he did somehow manage to let go of her, he'd be catapulted into space. And with the state of his family and home already up in the air, he didn't want to be the next thing to lose footing.

He grit his teeth, his hands in the safety of his pockets where they clenched and pinched into skin in an attempt to handle his thoughts. "She's my neighbor. I wanted to know if the cops had swung by the other night," he finally rung out, delayed enough to raise suspicion. Blaise continued to eye him but dropped it when a text came to his cell phone. In the time it took him to look down, Draco took a deep breath and tried to reassert his coolness, as if it'd ever existed.

"Time to go," Blaise said as he put his phone away. "Boss' given us the thumbs up."

The normality of going to meet up with Tom and his group of misfits was thrown off-kilter the second Hermione had thrown herself into the equation. Quitting the criminal pastime had been difficult enough but now that he'd called Tom, told him he was back in, Draco was on thin ice with the group of thugs who'd always been a little pissed with how cozy Draco was with Tom. Going to meet with all of them was a sickening prospect. He felt queasy but, under the watchful eye of his 'buddy', he gave a curt nod.

"Yeah, let's go." It was time he tried to go back to normal, even as he felt the ground shifting beneath his feet at an alarming pace.

* * *

"It's nothing, I feel fine," Hermione muttered over a mug of tea, her spoon rabidly swirling the lines of milk and honey until the substances gave in and dissolved; if only her brain worked so obediently, all those thoughts clashing against one another and refusing to come together and give her an actual feeling, a consistent idea of what was going on inside her. Despite her childish anger towards her teas ability to function more swiftly than her own mind, Hermione decided she would much rather stare at the spiraling liquid than Ginny. Her friend, unlike the tea, was not as complying. She could feel eyes on her, like a therapist waiting for a patient to crack.

After the embarrassing 'crack' in Hermione's car, Ginny had maneuvered her into the passenger seat, took over driving, and ushered the two of them into the Weasley house where Ginny demanded Hermione stay and talk over tea. And here they were, hidden in the girls' bunker- home to Ginny and Hermione's ordeals. They'd taken refuge here whenever Hermione and Ron fought, when Ginny finally accepted she was in love with Harry, when Arthur had gotten attacked at work, when one or both of their hearts' was in need of repair. Whenever there was something eating away at them, they came here to eat sugary, devilish food and delve into tea and emotions. If Hermione was being ushered into Ginny's room, hauled past Molly and the twins and Ron and any other redheaded nosy Weasley, then it meant there was serious girl business to attend to.

Trouble was, Hermione wasn't in the mood for serious girl business.

"Look, Ginny. I'm just under a lot of stress what with college applications and my brother being my brother. You know, those things," she mumbled over the mug's rim, taking a sip as an excuse not to blabber on about things that weren't really the issue. Well, they were in a way but they all seemed to be spiraling around a main problem Hermione was extremely hesitant to get at. Ginny could see this, those green eyes that reminded Hermione so much of her brother's saw right through her- much like Harry would if he were here; thankfully, he avoided this household like it was the dwelling of a dragon. And it was. The dragon's name was Ginny.

And that dragon's fiery target was currently Hermione. Ginny left her teetering stance by the doorway, dismissing her previous task to go get food and leave her friend be, and stood at the foot of the bed where Hermione sat defenselessly.

"No, I know. But those things don't make you burst into tears. And they don't make you lose it while driving."

Hermione puffed up. "I did not lose it."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up. Hermione deflated.

"Okay, maybe I did lose it a little bit but who cares? I'm a human being, I can cry and snap and be frustrated," Hermione ranted, looking anywhere but at Ginny. She wouldn't say she was a bad liar, exactly. She just lacked the proper skills to lie to Ginny, a product of a boy-cluttered household, boys who constantly puked out fibs. It didn't help that Molly Weasley, the infamous lie detector, was her mother.

"You said you were angry. What about?"

Hermione almost flung her tea. Instead, she performed the calm she was trying to convince Ginny she had. She put her mug down as smoothly as she could on the bedside table and then turned back to her interrogative friend. "I told you: school, college, Harry, my parents. A lot of things."

Ginny didn't waver a bit, her rigid arms locked in a cross of stubbornness over her chest. "And this all just coincidentally happened after your little run in with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione floundered, her mouth lagged behind her brain as it whirred away at an answer. It lay slack, open in wait for whatever her thoughts could muster. She could feel Ginny's ego booming with a presumed win over her.

"You, you know how he is. He likes to say things just to provoke me," she finally blurted out with a casual wave of the hand.

"Yeah, before he started playing grand theft auto and you just stopped caring." When Hermione finally peered up at Ginny, it was to a look of knowing. Her friend's face was smug with cornering her friend, slightly amused at how hard Hermione fought to tell lies and it never betrayed the slowly growing concern in those green eyes of hers. But Ginny knew, probably with more certainty than even Hermione did. But that didn't mean Ginny was just going to let Hermione off the hook. She wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth.

"What's going on between you two?"

Hermione found herself growing angry again, this time at Ginny for probing where she most certainly already knew it hurt. The redhead was just waiting for Hermione to confirm what she already had ingrained in her head. The issue, though, was that Hermione didn't have anything going on with Draco Malfoy anymore. At least, that's what she'd told herself over and over and cemented into fact the second he'd walked away from her. So what was the point in answering such a question?

"There's nothing going on," Hermione sighed. It didn't feel so true once the words were made concrete. In fact, she almost saw the words dither, flutter in the air, become weightless from their falsity and float off and away before they could make it to Ginny's ears. Either way, Ginny wasn't listening.

The Weasley girl shook her head, long hair flaring like flames as she got more and more agitated with Hermione. She moved closer to her, grabbed her shoulders, gave a slight shake.

"Remember when you kept pushing me to talk about Harry? Yeah, this is my payback. Now," Ginny grit out, a persisting fire in her eyes. "Tell. Me."

Hermione sewed her lips shut, felt the strain of truth against them and against her bitter tongue. How would this truth act when she said it out loud? Would it float off to wherever Draco was and alert him, make him run farther away, or would it fall on her feet and enslave her to that very spot? It were cluttering her mouth, rushing up from her swollen chest after too long of a containment, and wanted to come out. It had been wanting to come out since the night that pest of a Malfoy came through her window and left with her kiss. It had laid dormant like a disease, waiting for years for that night to finally trigger its awakening. But ever since it came alive, she'd been searching for some kind of cure or some kind of drug that would subdue it long enough for her to forget. But that wasn't going to happen. Ginny would see to that.

Her claws dug into Hermione's shoulder blades, made her bite down on the stitches that kept her lips shut, broke them.

"I think I might be in love with him."

* * *

He felt physically ill, as if an invisible force had punched him in the stomach, burst it open and allowed the acid there to spill and burn everything down. He felt a sudden emptiness that frightened him out of the bored stupor he'd fallen into the moment he'd stepped foot into Tom's downtown apartment. It jolted him and he realized that several eyes were on him, some amused and others barely suppressing hatred. He narrowed in on a specific pair of more apathetic eyes, Theodore Nott's eyes.

"What?" He asked to the general annoying public from his slouched spot on the couch. He was trying not to give away his own internal issues by sinking further into his seat, his feet flinging up to land on the coffee table where no one else dared put their feet. Tom wasn't anywhere nearby, having yet to arrive to his own meeting or whatever the hell this was, and Draco was nearing the 'don't care' zone of life rapidly.

"Heard rumors 'bout why you went MIA," a voice that wasn't Theodore's called out from the side. It sounded like Goyle, but Draco wasn't sure until he looked over and distinguished the towering beast from the other scrawny individuals Tom had managed to pull to the dark side. Goyle's broad shoulders were tense with years of pent-up rage, from what Draco never really knew but everyone else was quick to give those shoulders, arms, hands, general body a wide berth. Draco wasn't as cautious, since they'd once been friends before, you guessed it, Lucius Malfoy was hauled off to jail. They'd managed to keep a relatively docile relationship once Draco joined Tom's group of lackeys but, from the look of tension in the boy now, that didn't seem to be the case anymore.

"Good for you, I hope those rumors kept you entertained," Draco muttered, leaning forward to grab a lonely bag of chips from where they lay on the table. Nobody seemed willing to touch anything here, even though Tom had said they could.

"Heard it was a girl," Goyle continued, spitting the words like girls were the grossest things to come into existence. Maybe for him, they were, since none wanted to be around him. Still, the comment froze Draco, his fingers just barely grazing the bag's crinkly edge. He grit his teeth, feeling the room turn colder than the usual, crisp sixty degrees Tom kept it at.

He plopped his back into the couch again, feeling Theodore, Blaise, and others eyes on him. Theodore, though, looked more amused than anything. He was one of the few guys there who was worse off than Malfoy or Goyle, or others who were riches-to-rags sob stories due to ponzi schemes and so forth. He was from a family of quack jobs, if rumor was true- Draco never had the guts to ask him about it. He was kind of a nice kid, if you looked aside whenever he was beating someone up (a rare occasion since he more or less stuck with stealing cars). Draco had been hoping, if anyone was going to do it, that good ol' Theo would save him from this awkward interrogation. But, it seemed he was getting too much of a kick from Draco's discomfort.

"What, Goyle? You want me to give you tips on how to bag a chick?" Draco sidelined, feeling more and more ill. The prospect of these guys finding out about Hermione made his blood rush from his body. He'd seen what these poor excuses for human beings could do when on the job, when they were off the job and bored. He felt an itch to reach for his pocket knife.

Goyle sneered, a menacing image that looked more like a large facial scar than a crooked smile. "Since you offered, how 'bout you let me bag her?"

He fought the urge to jump from his seat. His fingers dug into the cushions, his eyes narrowed. "How about you tell me what's got your whitey tighties all up in a bunch?"

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw a meaty hand grab onto Goyle's tensed arm. He figured it was Crabbe, trying to keep some semblance of peace for the boss' sake.

Goyle, though partially restrained, was staring daggers into Draco. "You know what, I will. I don't get what the boss sees in you. You're just a prissy little shit who ain't got no loyalty. You shag a police hussy and then come in here like you own the place. I should fuckin' cut your balls off," he spat and Draco's eyes shot towards Blaise, who was smugly looking at the carpet.

He got up from the couch, his hand in his pocket, curled around the knife he really didn't want to use out of some pointless fidelity to Hermione. Goyle was just the megaphone, projecting the thoughts that everyone else had in the room. They were all staring at him like they would a roach they wanted to step on. They'd been looking at him like that for a very long time, thinking he was brownnosing Tom, their 'boss', and getting more of a pay than them. The idiots didn't know shit but they were finally going to use what they did know against him.

"So I'm a traitor now, 'cause I had a little fun with a girl? Are you kidding me?" He huffed, trying and mostly succeeding at playing it cool.

Blaise laughed loudly, humorlessly, and finally opened his big mouth again. "You knew she was in with the cops, dumbass."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I found that out earlier today. You saw me, talkin' to her. I was telling her to fuck off. I remember warning you not to get in with her, even though you still wanted to," he reminded Blaise, who had his mouth open but couldn't figure out what to say. But, of course, he figured out something stupid.

"But then why'd you lie about askin' her to-"

Draco sighed loudly, exasperated with Blaise and with having to continue to cover his ass. But some mechanism inside him was whirling away, telling him to protect, protect, protect and he, for once, wasn't sure if he was trying to protect himself or someone else for a change. He just couldn't shake the nagging feeling in his gut, the one that wanted everyone to stop throwing "police hussy" around, to keep them from brewing up some kind of payback. He imagined the only way the sickening knotting of his intestines would go away when he saw Hermione again, probably from his stance outside her house. How much had Blaise blurted out? Did they know where she lived because of his bull?

"Because I didn't want to deal with this bullshit!" He finally exclaimed, like it was the most obvious thing. The tension in the room was slowly thawing and both Blaise and Goyle were glowering but otherwise silent. But there was no relief for Draco.

Again, Draco felt like something was punching him in the stomach but this time, repeatedly. He didn't want to be here, surrounded by a bunch of vultures waiting for him to croak over so they could pick at him. He had in his head the image of a dark room filled with the smell of flowery shampoo, aging paper and ink and fresh air. The window was open, curtains waving as if to welcome him in.

"Well, well, feels like one of my family reunions in here," a less-than-welcomed voice called. Tom was back and the door, the window in Draco's mind shut. He was stuck here for now, fiddling with a pocket knife he was afraid he'd have to use sooner rather than later and feeling homesick.

* * *

She fiddled with her thumbs, tongue rolling over the bottom lip she had imprisoned between her teeth (as punishment for letting out the truth). Ginny, on the other side of the room, was a frozen redheaded lump atop an office chair. She had been staring at Hermione for a while now, encroaching on too long, and Hermione had, in the time it took her to spill the beans and Ginny to let go of her as if she was on fire, concluded that this was all a big mistake. She wanted to say as much, take back everything she'd already said, but feared incriminating herself with more traitorous confessions. So, they sat in awkward silence.

It was finally broken by a just as awkward laugh. Hermione watched her friend try to hold it back behind a hand, an arm, a shoulder, but it kept coming. Already embarrassed enough for a year or two, Hermione felt herself flare up red in the cheeks.

"Well, that is the last time," Hermione started indignantly but Ginny raised the hand that had failed to stop her giggles. She waved it, like a flag of pardon.

"No, I'm not laughing at you. I swear it," Ginny breathed, finally uncurling herself from her folded-up position. She shook out her hair, gave a sigh meant to expel the last of her laughter. "I just, I thought you two were just screwing."

She said it as if that was supposed to make it all better. Hermione could feel her hair pulling at her scalp as it rose in disgust, anger, shock, every other emotion that was finding its way to the surface of her skin. Ginny saw her friend nearing combustion and waved both her hands but they weren't going to save her. Hermione shot up from the bed, face burning and dignity burning just as much if not hotter.

"You think I would just have sex with someone? You think I had sex with him? You? Ginny!" Hermione roared, not caring that the entirety of the Weasley family probably heard her- and that was a lot of ears and mouths.

Ginny grimaced but bravely got up from her seat to raise hands towards Hermione. She moved towards her, putting the hands soothingly on stiff shoulders. "Hermione, I forgot that you're a prude. Sorry."

Her hands went flying as Hermione's shoulders angrily shook them off. "Not helping your case, Ginny," she fumed, though the flames were slowly dying down. Ginny saw as much and smiled, giving a shrug.

"Well, have you?" She probed, dangerously heating Hermione up again. Brown eyes narrowed on the redhead.

"Have I what?" Hermione snapped.

Ginny retreated to her bed where she plopped down, a sign that she was no longer afraid of Hermione kicking her ass. She seemed to be digging for something. "You know, rolled around with Malfoy. Done the deed, signed off your V card," came the muffled reply as she pulled at something from under her mattress.

Hermione gawked at Ginny's back. She couldn't believe this was her best friend yet, at the same time, she knew it was. "I tell you I might be having an emotional crisis, after you go digging at me to tell, and you ask if I've slept with the guy?"

Ginny looked up from her search with a look that could only be explained by her own words: "Duh?"

Hermione heaved in exasperation. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. You're of no help."

Red hair flew everywhere as Ginny flopped back onto her bed with a journal in hand, a look of pure satisfaction on her face. "You're in love, stupid. There's no helping that." She said it so matter-of-factly, so briskly that Hermione felt a rush of hopelessness flood over her. That was her fear all along and now the facts were out in print, floating around her and haunting her already. And what could she do about it? Nothing.

"Then why did you make me tell you? You thought you already knew what was going on," Hermione groaned as she sat back down on the foot of the bed. The mattress shifted and complained as Ginny scooted closer to her. She was leafing through her little book, bright pink and oozing with childhood ignorance. Hermione eyed it suspiciously.

"Because I wanted you to hear yourself say it since you so obviously didn't want to. You can't deny something that's already in you, Hermione. Besides, I like confirmation before I go spewing out half-assed thoughts."

Hermione scoffed. "Yeah, you would've looked so stupid. More stupid than the girl who's in love with a Malfoy. Still, you did miss the mark quite a bit." At least she could feel comfort in that.

Ginny rolled her eyes, finally tearing them away from her book to ridicule Hermione. "Oh please, I was just giving you the benefit of the doubt."

"Oh, so you suspected that I was head over heels, too?" Hermione shot skeptically, her turn to roll her eyes. When she looked back at Ginny, however, her skepticism fell flat. The other girl was smiling from ear to ear, her eyes on a specific page of her journal. When she met Hermione's gaze, Hermione felt her stomach drop.

"Yup, for years." She shoved the scribbled-in diary into Hermione's resistant hands and pointed to a portion of poor writing. "I called it ever since primary school. It started right before he became such a little turd but I suspected you two were crushing on each other with all those longing, innocent lil' looks and stupid teasing." Ginny gave her a mock sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Hermione, my friend, I knew you were a goner from the start but I know how you like proof."

And unless Ginny was able to mimic her childhood handwriting in the few minutes it took her to pull off this stunt, Ginny did have proof for Hermione to look at. She felt something twist in her stomach when her eyes finally fell on the words, read them in her head and tried hard not to envision them coming to life. And there the proof lay, in a scribbled out, future family tree:

Draco – Mione Harry – Ginny

She felt physically ill.

"You married me to him?" She wanted to shove the book down Ginny's throat. Ginny sensed as much and raised her hands in defense.

"Hey, you're the one who's in love with him. Not my fault I have a sixth sense."

Hermione scowled, tossing the book aside and running her hands through her hair, pulling it in the process. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" She didn't want to have these thoughts in her head, these ideas nagging in her ribcage. She didn't want them and she didn't have room for them.

"If it's any help, neither of us are married to our suitors of choice," Ginny grumbled from beside her. Hermione glanced through the bars of her hair to finally see a sympathetic face. She sighed in surrender as she leaned on Ginny's shoulder and rested her head there. If she was going to wallow in self-pity, it might as well be with a friend.

"I told you, Ginny. You're of no help, but thank you."

Ginny's shoulder jolted, hitting Hermione in the cheek. "Excuse you." A heavy pause. "Are you going to tell him?"

Hermione felt illness overtake her again, her stomach was tossed from side to side and she felt lunch bubble up. It was one thing to say things to Ginny, make words weigh with meaning and then stow them back within her ribcage like a deadweight. It was another thing to say it to more than one person, to Draco of all people. Her stomach was somewhere between where it was supposed to be and the nearest galaxy.

"I should, but I don't think I will."

Little did Hermione know, with her face burrowed in the darkness of Ginny's shirt, that her friend was smiling with knowledge that came from her apparent sixth sense.

"Oh, we'll see about that."


End file.
